Page 20 - Reflections on the Danger of a Single Story

Iwas born of Puerto Rican parents in Puerto Rico. Both are fluently bilingual. They moved to America for a better life. I think they wanted to leave behind a life of struggle. We, as an island, belonged (and still do) to the U.S.A. Despite this connection, Puerto Rico has remained in struggle.
Every time I visit while on vacation, I see many, many signs of what I don’t experience as often here: many working-capable people not working. I feel a mixture of embarrassment, sadness, and confusion. Why do they not work or want to work? My parents instilled in me a strong desire to get up and go to work. Every day. Whether feeling well or ill. It wouldn’t be until I became a wiser more knowledgeable adult that I would be able to make sense of this.
Let’s go back to me in high school for a moment. I had a white teacher who (and I still don’t remember clearly why) yelled in my face that I’d never amount to anything and that he’d always have more degrees than I ever would. In the moment, I was angry and embarrassed. Unbeknownst to me, in my subconscious, a narrative was forming. A narrative that would take decades to unfold and come to the forefront of my mind. I currently have degrees and am working on a fourth. Is this enough? Some family and friends think I have enough. But the story I took on and believed that I’d never amount to anything was driving and compelling me to keep going to school. I’m 50 now and quite tired from all these years spent sitting in classrooms while listening to professors speak and lecture for hours.
Because of that moment in high school, I walked away thinking I’d never be what he said and, more importantly, I’d never be like the people I saw back in Puerto Rico who spent their time not working. Didn’t they want to be better? Didn’t they want more for their lives? I wouldn’t be like ‘them’.
As for my story about others, I easily think of some Mexican people who work in restaurants. I eat out a lot. Often times, I peak into the kitchen to see who cooks my food. Because I’ve often seen people who appear to be Mexican to me, I quickly assumed (years ago) they come to America to work in restaurants. If they’re not doing that, then they’re selling flowers on the sides of bodegas in the Bronx. Sad to say, I’ve caught myself thinking as I pass Mexican-appearing people in the street that they work in restaurants or sell flowers. I’ve thought they come to America to do those two things.
The video has given me pause. It’s gotten me to think about the narratives in my head about people. I don’t have pride around these stories. I’m ashamed to think I can use casual observation to group people in some way. I think the next step for me is to reflect on how this might be influencing my interaction with students.
DEREK DANIEL HERNANDEZ