“¿Por qué leemos esto en la clase de español?”: The Politics of Teaching Literature in Spanglish

As we consider the role of the Modern Language Department in the twenty first century, this article discusses what is at stake in teaching works written in Spanglish in Spanish departments and what teaching such works might mean for students and the scholarly community at large. This article primarily comes out of my experiences teaching Spanglish works in Spanish courses at a major research institution during my graduate studies and more recently at a private liberal arts college as an assistant professor.¹ The question posed in the title, “¿Por qué leemos esto?” for example, was asked of me by a student in an upper-division literary and cultural studies course on contemporary narrative and film of the US/Mexico border region.

My students’ discussions that semester led me to ponder the value of teaching works in Spanglish, and I began to see that such texts encourage students to consider larger issues of language, culture, and identity, such as the dynamic and contextual nature of language, the politics and power of language choice, and the creative possibilities of negotiating linguistically and culturally in multiple and hybrid, rather than in singular, modes. While these issues can be raised in reading texts written entirely in Spanish, the tensions created in the classroom by texts in multiple and mixed codes lead to deeper analysis and engaged dialogue.

One of these discussions stemmed from Sandra Cisneros’s short story “Little Miracles, Kept Promises.” The story is a compilation of prayers and petitions to God, La Virgen, and various saints by individuals from Texas and Mexico. The prayers are written in multiple and mixed codes: English, Spanish, Spanglish, and even a literal coded language of letters and numbers.

At the start of this class period, students shared some of their favorite prayers from the text, among these Elizondo’s from Cotulla who wrote: “Milagroso Cristo Negro de Esquipulas, Te ofrezco este retrato de mis niños. Wáchelos, Dios Santo … y que el cheque del income tax nos llegue pronto para pagar los biles” (123). Fito Moroles of Rock Port offered this prayer: “Milagroso Cristo Negro, Thank you por el milagro de haber graduado de high school. Aquí le regalo mi retrato de graduation” (123). In what followed, students asked about the inclusion of Spanglish words like “wachélos” or words in English such as “graduation” when Spanish options exist. We considered which words were used in Spanish in primarily English prayers, which words were used in English in primarily Spanish prayers, and why speakers might have chosen these particular words. We also analyzed the construction of words like “wachélos,” noting how they were not random inventions but followed Spanish grammar rules. This led us to discuss the ways language continually is evolving and is tied to cultural context. Students observed these phenomena both in the text and in their experiences. Such texts, thus, allow for heritage, native, and non-native speakers to examine their assumptions about “correctness” and authority, their goals as lifelong language learners, and their understanding of their own and other linguistic communities.

In my second year language and culture course, students read a selection from Junot Díaz’s novel The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao.² Teaching this Spanglish work in the Spanish classroom underscores the creative possibilities of negotiating linguistically and culturally in multiple and mixed, rather than in singular, modes. After being introduced to the protagonist Oscar, a Dominican-American “dude [who] wore his nerdiness like a Jedi wore his light saber or a Lensman her lens” (21), students identified the codes Oscar uses: English, Spanish, and Spanglish, as well as academic and science fiction argot, while others looked for Oscar’s identifications with race, ethnicity, and subcultures. I then asked students to consider the contexts in which Oscar utilizes distinct codes; he uses Spanish with his grandmother, calling her “La Inca,” while reverting to science fiction and gaming jargon with his friends. In perhaps one of the most striking examples, Oscar blurts out “Soy dominicano. Dominicano soy” when students at Rutgers question...