Select 1 line in Borderlands that you consider to be essential to Anzaldua’s work and discuss why you were drawn to it and how it functions within the text as a whole. The line you select might illuminate an image, metaphor, figure, word, or idea you find interesting; you must persuasively explore its meaningfulness in ways that are not obvious, general, or summarizing. Consider also how Anzaluda’s text enacts, embodies, or resists the very concept of the border that is being explored, and thus how she challenges your position as a reader.
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“Not only was the brain split into two functions but so was reality. Thus people who inhabit both realities are forced to live in the interface between the two, forced to become adept at switching modes” (37).
Anzaldua both metaphorically and literally switches between the battling races inside her. Throughout the text Anzuldua uses Spanish and English with sentences that incorporate a blending of the two languages. It is clear that she had become adept at switching modes as she describes but rather than exhibiting it as a forced switch she uses it to her advantage. That’s not to say Anzaldua is not a victim of the very situation she describes but rather that she’s been pushed so far into this reality that it’s an integral part of herself. Aside from language Anzaldua uses this quote to describe the relationship between her “pagan superstitions” and the opposing mindset of the white man. Despite her various and prominent encounters with the supernatural she denies they are real. This stems from the white mindset which views such situations as witchcraft, voodoo, and other taboos. Thus Anzaldua has to switch off parts of her culture to fit into the other. Anzaldua struggles repeatedly with the acceptance and rejection of various parts of her culture’s beliefs. Most disagreeable to her are the prominent and repeated notion that women are lesser than are meant to obey men. The power of men in Mexican culture which in turn puts down women is one Anzaldua openly criticizes. Despite disagreeing with aspects of Mexican culture she still strongly identifies with the title of mestiza, Mexican American, and other titles related to Mexican culture. This shows her switching modes in a way different than previously described. In this example, Anzaldua’s brain is split into two functions; one that accepts and one that denies Mexican traditions. However the difference is that this split proves beneficial more than a hindrance that the above quote reflects. Anzaldua does depict often that living in an interface, a borderland, means constant changing, rejection, and acceptance. This quote to me shows most of the aspects Anzaldua repeatedly covers throughout Borderlands. Her brain is often split into various beliefs, battling with herself. The reality she lives in has forced her to reject aspects of her life in order to feel accepted. She has been forced to live in the interface between Mexican, American, and indigenous life and struggles throughout the whole book to accept parts of herself while rejecting the others. She is constantly switching and changing, she is malleable, but tough , and resilient just as she describes mestizas to be.
“Women is carnal, animal, and closer to the undivine, she must be protected. Protected from herself.” (17)
This quote was extremely powerful to me because it can be seen in cultures all throughout the world. This quote also encapsulates many different ideas and a unique experience to motherhood that I have struggled to identify previous to this reading. The idea that women are to be protected and valued because of their inherent ability to produce offspring, and if one is unable to or decides not that this is them going against some sort of divine ability, and therefore she is not to be protected anymore. Her value to society does not expand past continuing on humanity, and even more importantly- the birth of a son, a boy who will grow up to become a man.
Women also do not exist in society with brains of their own. They are not to be trusted to think for themselves, and God forbid they have their own passions, convictions, and perceptions. They are not allowed to believe in themselves because this would mean they are confident, and with enough confidence comes social prowess and power. This ties back to a bigger idea that was expressed a bit earlier to this statement, that even educated women hold no power because ultimately they are seen as caregivers. They are mothers who are expected to put their children and families first. This is in part because women continue on the cycles of misogyny and teach the ways of the patriarchy to their children, showing young girls they shouldn’t value or trust their own thoughts, and telling young boys that they will always get their way.
Another idea that this quote reminded me of is how women are pit against each other in society. Women see each other as competition for the attention of men, and not just romantically. A mother in law competes for her son’s attention because his wife is now priority over her. In her child’s life, she was the most important person, and now she no longer is. Women are not individuals, and due to them needing the status of a man to carry them, there is always a constant competition between them on who can be the most desirable. This leads to women, especially older, feeling the need to tear the hopeful spirits of other women down in order to maintain a status quo and appease men. If they uphold the patriarchy it also means that their life has purpose, that their sacrifice to their families was worth something greater and was serving a higher God or purpose.
“We’re supposed to ignore, forget, kill those fleeting images of the soul’s presence and of the spirit’s presence.” (36)
I felt connected to this line because I have experienced it. Since childhood, I have hid aspects of myself that are spiritual because I did not want to be perceived as some foolish girl, another overly sensitive woman. I feel things deeply and that is not acceptable to a culture that focuses on rationality over emotion. I believe this line is also significant to Anzaldua’s work because in just one sentence it very concisely sums up how western attitudes have been used to marginalize and control people. To sever a person from what fundamentally makes them alive (their spirit) makes it so that those in power can more easily control them. With no grounding in internal spirit or a communal attitude, it becomes simpler to dominate, to make people turn against each other. Spirituality threatens western systems of power because it gives people strength and because it is accessible to everyone regardless of race or gender or sexuality. Spirituality is not organized. It is so deeply individual that it cannot be infiltrated or subverted. So the only option for the oppressor is to shame people out of it with the full weight of society and its structures.
A major issue that Anzaldua deals with in this book is the artificiality of all those societal structures. There is a deep scorn for things imposed on her people for the benefit of others. As she talks about how her family was swindled out of their land, she simultaneously points out how the borders were created and fenced for the same purpose. Borderlands is about borders and how they are far from the true, natural state we, as people, should exist in. Just as we should feel connected with our souls, we too should not be forced into boxes, bound by papers and cruel laws. As someone who has lived in Texas their whole life, the concept of the Tex-Mex border is deeply ingrained. I took Texas History in school every other year. It was constantly pounded into our heads that the border is unchangeable and good. We were told that we, as good come-and-take-it Texans, should be willing to defend that border, just like all the heroes in our textbooks who perished in manly honor at the Alamo or Goliad. It is always difficult to face what we have been taught, but as Anzaldua says “those activities or Coatlicue states which disrupt the smooth flow (complacency) of life are exactly what propel the soul to do its work: make soul, increase consciousness of itself”. (46)
“I will no longer be made to feel ashamed for existing […] I will have my serpents tongue– my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice. I will overcome the tradition of silence.”
While I found this entire chapter to be particularly interesting to me, this quote specifically felt like an essential line that contextualizes the rest of the book. As the book discusses how intersecting systems of power function within her culture and impact her life, the entire narrative was unashamedly honest from her point of view. She has no problem calling out how these systems and aspects of her culture have made her feel shame simply for existing, or for having her voice– This quote expresses the defiance felt throughout the whole book. For the figurative language within this quote, the use of “tongue” in place of language, dialect or speech, is a metonym that emphasizes how intrinsically linked her language is with her sense of self, as if it was a physical part of her body. However, she not only uses tongue merely in place of the word language, but in this particular quote she employs the imagery of a “snake’s tongue”, which emphasizes her defiance towards how her identity and speech is perceived. In this way she acknowledges how her voice has been suppressed, villainized, and that she will use it regardless of Anglo and Chicano culture’s attempts.
Anzaldúa’s exploration of various topics within her culture, how she lives within it and is simultaneously at times a victim of it, was very impactful. The idea of borders within the work seemed to manifest many different ways: at times a simple boundary between 2 cultures or ideas, at others a shift between 2 different forms of being. I was challenged by the way she seemed to cross between the borders constantly. I initially conceptualized borders as being something difficult to cross over, something that would take effort and would come with resistance, however Anzaldúa used borders many times throughout the novel to demonstrate how mutable many of them can be. The different intersections of the systems of oppression she faces within her identity– race, religion, sex, language– overlap with each other, functioning in so that she moves between the borders of these identities depending on how others perceive her and how she perceives herself, constantly recontextualizing her place within her own culture and identity.
“There is a rebel in me—the Shadow-Beast” (16).
The rebel, the untamed tongue, and the disobedient queer woman: all aspects of herself Anzaldua feels a compulsion to suppress through her experience living in the borderlands of the Rio Grande Valley in South Texas. The border that most stood out to me in this line and throughout the text is the blurred, cultural one between collectivist and individualist societies. It comes up in constant tensions regarding which cultural practices Anzaldua should accept. She battles between the Anglo conventions forced down her throat and the home values that tell her that she is “lesser” because she is different. I interpreted the “Shadow-Beast” to be Anzaldua’s individualism—the complex and intersectional groups and traits that form her identity, from her feminism to her stubbornness to her artistic expression.
Living in borderlands removes a large amount of control out of one’s hands and instills a lot of fear. So people, Anzaldua included, resort to controlling what is within. Anzaldua frequently mentions her awareness of and interest in the psyche. In examining this line through a psychological lens, I found it really compelling that Jung’s idea of the shadow is known to be an unconscious part of ourselves that we choose to reject. As many Chicanos try to “out-Chicano” each other according to Anzaldua, it makes sense that she would want to conceal or disown the white-washed parts of her identity. She struggles to reconcile her love of her Chicano culture and her deviance from the culture’s norms. She tucks the unacceptable and dangerous parts of her far back into her mind to be safe in the society she’s engaging with, but the border between the “Shadow-Beast” and her consciousness is not well-protected. It marinates in “psychic unrest”, developing a resentful yet silent vengeance for outside controls, and it can “bolt” at any time.
“We lose something in this mode of initiation, something is taken from us: our innocence, our unknowing ways, our safe and easy ignorance.” (61)
This line is at the end of chapter three, Anzaldúa is talking about the stolen childhood she experienced. Always having her guard up, scared, not knowing what or who was coming next. This line stood out, because it almost felt like a climax to this realization she was leading the reader to; of taking her voice back. This passage almost felt like a mental border that Anzaldúa was crossing of finally reclaiming herself. The way she phrases it in the paragraph almost has this childish take of it to match the idea of taking her childhood innocence back.
More importantly, this plays onto the overarching concept of mentally reclaiming yourself. It’s such a difficult border to cross, which Anzaldúa shows through the battle in (re) finding her many different parts of herself. Most borders, in some way, are just mental obstacles. However, finding that strength to fight for that inner child, to glue back the broken bits of your identity is a strength that Anzaldúa demonstrates.
“Soy un amasamiento, I am an act of kneading, of uniting and joining that not only has produced both a creature of darkness and a creature of light, but also a creature that questions the definitions of light and dark and gives them new meanings” (Anzaldúa 81).
This line appears in the middle of Chapter 7, which is entitled, “La conciencia de la mestiza/Towards a New Consciousness.” While the chapter as a whole serves as a call to action and a bringing together of all the ideas Anzaldúa explores in previous chapters, this line captures concisely Anzaldúa’s newfound understanding of what it means to be a person of the borderlands.
For one, it includes both Spanish and English; her constant switching between the two languages reflects the way a mind in the borderland functions. In particular, this line demonstrates how fluid the two languages can be as there is no period definitively separating the two languages from each other but a comma, which signifies solely a pause. This parallels the words she writes in each language; that living in the borderlands does not mean you are fractured into your multiple identities, but that you are a unification and joining of those identities, and that your life is an act of kneading.
Anzaldúa also includes contradiction and juxtaposition in this line—both of which are utilized frequently in the rest of the book. In this case, she is pitting the concepts of light and darkness against one another. This is a call back to previous explorations by Anzaldúa, notably her discussion of the fire residing inside mestizas and the idea of the Shadow-Beast. When she discusses these two concepts earlier, she often writes about them in terms of something that needs to be or is hidden by either herself or cultural expectations. However, this line provides contrast and shows growth; she is now accepting and proud to announce the presence of both within her.
While this line successfully encompasses the complexities that exist within people of the borderlands (their use of multiple languages and their battle against both inner and external demons), it more importantly shows the beauty of these complexities—that, like kneading bread, living in the borderlands requires hard work (in this case internal reflection towards the goal of acceptance), but can lead to a beautiful product (the new mestiza).
“Living in a state of psychic unrest in a borderland, is what makes poets write and artists create.” (73)
This line in Anzaldua’s Borderlands is significant for several reasons. The first is the mention of her book titled “Borderland”. The title made this line stand out and explains her reasoning and many other artists’ reasoning for creating. In her novel, Anzadua explores her experience of being Chicano while exploring her personal history and the constraints that limit her free thought and expression of herself.
I find this quote to be intriguing. To be in a state of psychic unrest is to be starving and needing a release, an outlet. For many artists, this means creating. Yet, to be in a borderland while living in that state is to be limited by outside factors or cultural constraints that live within one’s mind and have been built up over centuries. Anazulda wants to be heard yet she is scared no one will be listening due to the oppression of her culture. In addition, the use of the word “psychic”, as if to mean an out-of-body experience. One that is created from something greater than the mind. Anzaludua eludes to spirits throughout Borderlands. Could she be referring to a spirit taking over her mind as she seeks to find a way to rest her nerves and tame the beast that lives inside her yet limits her to what she can create? Yet, for all that to take place in a borderland leads to a limit in what one can create, for fear can take over and make the mind go into a dark secluded space.
“And suddenly I feel everything rushing to a center, a nucleus. All the lost pieces of myself come flying from the deserts and the mountains and the valleys, magnetized toward that center. Completa” (51).
This was the end of chapter 4, The Coatlicue State, in which Anzaldúa details her experience not just with physical borders, but with the ones inside herself. As a queer Chicana, her identity is split. It seems to contradict itself, each not being accepted by the other. She feels too American to be Mexican, too Mexican to be American, and too queer to be either. She does not fit neatly into any box and therefore feels broken and lost.
Finally, at the end of the chapter, she has a realization. She repeatedly writes, “Let the wound caused by the serpent be cured by the serpent.” The serpent is the monster inside of her, created by her conflicting identities, who she refers to as the “Shadow-Beast.” Metaphorically, she finally understands that the serpent is only hurting her because she is fighting with it. Instead of being shamed and belittled, the monster has to be embraced and cared for. After spending so long trying to ignore or expel her multiple truths of being Tejana, Indigenous, and queer, she comes to terms with the fact that they are all important parts of her and do not have to fight with each other. They are able to coexist because they do. Inside of her.
In this sentence, Anzaldúa uses imagery to deepict her mental state as she realizes that her identities are not mutually exclusive. She refers to her many identities as “lost pieces of herself”. They were lost because she refused to acknowledge them and the image of them coming back to her from different parts of the world is a beautiful representation of her finally accepting every aspect of herself. The idea of the pieces coming from the deserts and valleys also connects to her homeland, as these are features of the Southwest or Aztlán. Finally, the last word, completa, is an acknowledgement of her Chicana identity. She wrote most of the passage in English, but ends in her native language to show that even though she is American, she is also Tejana. She does not have to use English when she writes about her queerness, she can use Spanish too. Just because, as she writes, her culture can be homophobic, her queerness does not take away from her experience as a Chicana. This final sentence is an important breakthrough for Anzaldúa where she begins to see herself as a whole person, not merely as a battleground for warring identities.
“Silence rose like a river and could not be held back, it flooded and drowned everything (45).” This line spoke to me because I feel that it’s very representative of the overarching feeling Anzaldua possesses about each border presented in the work; there are only two options to follow (to comply or rebel), leaving her uncertain about how to exist and be present. Though Anzaldua discusses two eyes, one tongueless and one extremely talkative, I find it interesting that silence so easily won because of the disconnect between these two halves that live inside her. I have always believed that silence is retreat, so speaking up will win, however, Anzaldua is creating an argument in this work that silence holds significant power. Silence is the only thing powerful enough to transgress the borders that exist in Anzaldua as she struggles with her identity as a queer, Chicana woman. I think the disconnect between the two eyes is directly related to this struggle, one quiet part of her wants to believe in the magical idea that she can be all these things, while a (perhaps) more rational part wants to take over and reject this ideal. She reports feeling like an alien (43). For a long time, I have felt like words are more alienating than silence, but I feel that BORDERLANDS argues that silence is its own type of bully, one that can be more alienating than words. And though Anzaldua lives in a physical borderland, I think that the social and psychological borders that stem from her silence about her identity (because these things are rejected from society) are the real focus of the piece. I am left wondering: is silence what got Anzaldua to where she is in her life now?
“¿Quién está tratando de cerrar la fisura entre la india y el blanco en nuestra sangre? El Chicano, si, el Chicano que anda como un ladrón en su propia casa.” (63)
“Who is trying to close the fissure between the Indian and the white man in our blood? The Chicano, yes, the Chicano who goes about like a robber in his own house.”
These lines felt very significant to Anzaldúlas work for many reasons – the first being that they were written in Spanish. Anzaldúla uses a mixture of languages throughout the text, including English, Mexican Spanish, and Chicano Spanish. She alludes to these languages being part of her daily life in different settings, as she has learned to code-switch when the situation calls for it. I find that the beautiful mix of dialects throughout the book reflects Anzaldúla’s own ability to intertwine these languages in her day-to-day speech, and reflect borderlands between differing cultures in and of themselves. While my translation of the Mexican Spanish line is not exact, it captures the idea that inspires Anzaldúla’s work – that to be Chicano is to be a reconciliation, a pluralism, the glue between borders, and yet to be shunned by culture for the mestiza in your blood. For thousands of years, there has been conflict between Native Americans and white people in the United States. While Chicanos serve as living symbols of the meshing of these two borders, we are plagued by a psychic unrest – one where we must adhere to the rules of Anglo-American society, and a culture which was created by men. By pointing out this duality, Anzaldúla challenges the society which shuns those who bridge borders across identity. Similarly, I find Anzaldúla’s use of the word mestiza to be poignant and powerful, as she challenges the concept of clashing borders by proudly describing herself as such. Mestiza or mestizo has been used for centuries as a shameful insult, loaded with connotations of beastliness and improperness – just like Chicano Spanish – but in describing herself as a mestiza, a living borderland, Anzaldúla takes her history back and accepts the unique perspective it gives her in creating a hybrid culture that transcends the rigid boundaries of race, class, and gender.
“The work of mestiza consciousness is to break down the subject-object duality that keeps her a prisoner and to show in the flesh and through the images in her work how duality is transcended” (80). This line spoke to me because I feel that it connects to every aspect of Anzaldua’s identity that she had explored in the text. Throughout BORDERLANDS, Anzaldua writes of the hardships that she faces as a Chicana lesbian: as a woman living under the patriarchy she experiences misogyny, as a queer person she faces homophobia, and as a person of color she is subjected to racism. The idea of a new consciousness, as Anzaldua fleshes out at the end of the text, works to build a bridge between these opposing forces. Rather than feeling alienated by boxes or labels, Anzaldua instead unites the contrasting aspects of her identity to work together in inextricable harmony: she resists and rejects the concept of borders. For example, Anzaldua explains how Chicanos were not accepted as fully Mexican nor Anglo-American (63); instead, they embraced their “borderlands.” They transcended above their borders by consciously fusing their dual identities into a hybrid culture, allowing Chicanos to flourish as a unique and diverse group of people. These essential concepts of acceptance and unity function to raise awareness of borders in readers’ own lives and still remain as relevant as ever today.
“Which was it to be — strong, or submissive, rebellious or conforming?” (18).
Anzaldua continually references multiple borders, many of which were drawn long before she was able to discern them. The border of womanhood raises many questions like the one Anzaldua is asking. It is expected for women to be subservient and accommodating, to never ask and simply do. Yet, a woman is a “Shadow Beast”, who must be tamed.
I find this image of a “Shadow Beast” somewhat perplexing; a beast made of shadows? Or shadows concealing a beast. To Anzaldua, it appears to be a beast hiding in the shadows, ready to pounce when threatened. Yet, I think there is also value in exploring the former; a beast made of shadows. To me, this is representative of the hidden and dangerous parts of culture, the culture that tells a woman she is less than, and that she must accept the dominance of men.
This beast represents a guardian of the border between acceptance of normality and rebellion. It helps to enact that border, while still leaving way for the lines to be redrawn.
“And if going home is denied me then I will have to stand and claim my space, making a new culture–una cultura mestiza–with my own lumber, my own bricks and mortar and my own feminist architecture.” (page 22)
This quote supports two of the book’s overall messages: first, borders are not imposed where they make sense and should be eliminated. Second, the space between borders, where there is overlap between two opposing cultures or ideals, can be a valid and generative space. It can be a place where new aspects of culture are built, or where individuals find freedom and community where they haven’t been able to before. While these two messages may seem contradictory (how can a place be both a result of something that shouldn’t exist and still be worthwhile?), the contradiction emphasizes the people found in the borderlands. While they live in a contradictory and difficult environment, they work to “make a new culture” that can accommodate the tension of the border and the imperfection of the people in the community.
This quote also emphasizes the effort required to make sense of the “border” identities that Anzaldua describes in the book: the struggle to reconcile her Chicano identity with her valid criticisms of the culture she was raised in, her attempts to learn what femininity and queerness mean to her in the context of her background, and the ongoing work she describes of connecting with her spiritual side in order to know herself. As she says, a new culture must be built, claimed. Using the framework of this quote, we can understand that identity and culture aren’t things that exist by default: they need to be created, maintained, and intentionally acknowledged. Therefore, the borders she describes don’t exist in the real world: there is no objective difference between “home” and Anzaldua’s “new culture” except for the borders that have been set by the members of each group. It gives those who have been pushed out the freedom to make something of their own when they do not have the option to be a part of the home they started in.
“Ethnic identity is twin skin to linguistic identity – I am my language.” (59) When I first started reading Borderlands/La Frontera, I was immediately drawn to Anzaldua’s purposeful alternation between Spanish, English and Chicano Spanish. When discussing Anglo American perspectives on the border, Anzaldua uses English. When speaking from personal experience, she uses Chicano Spanish. Although rarer, she also will switch entirely into Spanish.
The alternation of these three languages serves as a way to distinguish between the cultures Anzaldua describes being stuck between. An example of this is the passage where Anzaldua describes her family graveyard. When describing her family’s experience, she uses Chicano Spanish. However, when the focus of the story shifts to the padlocked gate, she pivots to Northern American English. In doing so, Anzaldua sets up the idea that language and culture are inextricably linked, allowing her to elaborate further during the chapter “How to Tame a Wild Tongue.”
Anzaldua also makes the choice to use the term Chicano Spanish when describing the language she speaks, as opposed to the more ubiquitous but less accurate term “Spanglish.” Spanglish is generally used to describe a mix of Spanish and English, and is associated with the stereotype of the Latino immigrant who speaks poor English, and therefore has to sub in Spanish to make up for it. Although the two are similar, Chicano Spanish is a recognized dialect of English. Anzaldua goes farther in her definition of Chicano Spanish by defining it as its own language, inspired by but distinct from both Spanish and English.
By framing herself and her identity within the lens of Chicano Spanish, a language that Anzaldua internalized growing up as “poor Spanish [and] illegitimate, a bastard language,” (58) she explores the way in which her culture has been considered “not ___ enough” by both Mexicans “del otro lado” and white U.S. Americans. Like Chicano culture, Chicano Spanish took its roots from the border between the Spanish-speaking world and the white-dominated United States, but used a mix of the two to become its own distinctive creation. However, unlike other languages (for example, one might have to research to discover that aceite, or oil, has an Arabic root due to the centuries of contact between Arabic and Spanish-speaking peoples), the origins of every word are impossible to ignore. Anzaldua notes this herself when choosing to italicize Chicano Spanish terms that originated from Spanish in the same way as poems and paragraphs written entirely in Mexican Spanish, treating the language as an amalgamation while at the same time pushing for its recognition. This mirrors how Anzaldua talks about her experience as a Chicana on the US/Mexico border, a crossroads that has developed into its own culture, but at the same time is both inseparable from and marginalized by the cultures from which it descended.
“And before a scab forms it hemorrhages again, the lifeblood of two worlds merging to form a third country-a border culture.”
I think this line about a border culture resembling an open wound unable to close aptly reflects the overall history and messaging of the Atravesando Fronteras/Crossing Borders portion of Gloria Anzaldúa’s book. In these chapters, Anzaldúa depicts the ongoing turmoil of a Chicana identity, beginning with migrations among Aztecs and other Native Americans and continuing on to the modern racism, sexism, and homophobia that she has faced. For centuries, the South Texas region she references as her Borderlands has been rife with different groups inciting oppression and silencing, a cyclic conflict with no time for recovery. A wound with no bandage or healed skin. In particular, the word “hemorrhages” illustrates the violent nature of these oppressions—against women, against queer people, against Mexican and Native American heritage—and suggests an uncontrollable nature to the flow of blood. As the region bleeds out, its people, culture, and language bleed out, resulting in the forced acclimation and adoption of language that Anzaldúa describes. However, the “lifeblood” of these crossroads carries both death and rebirth. The region loses its blood, its soul, to the wounds of racist fear and perceived superiority, but the image of the two sides of the border’s blood “merging to form a third country” suggests a coupling and a birth. Out of the ashes of ravaged culture is emerging Anzaldúa’s Chicana culture, which she claims with a nuanced interpretation of her goddess, la Guadalupe and Coatlalopueh, and the variety of languages and dialects she calls her own. Though parts of her culture have been brutalized and used against her—her languages termed anathema, her goddess reduced to a meek “ideal” woman and mother—she also works to take pride and not shame in the forming of her tongue and her beliefs.