Soy Fronterizo: The Border Is Always Within Us

By Miguel Juarez, February 2008

Soy Chicano y soy fronterizo. Born and raised in El Paso, la neta. Formerly

living in Central Texas, in Bryan/College Station, formerly working at Texas A&M

formerly living en Los Angeles, the City of Angels and diablos and now back in El

Chuco, El Paso, Texas. When I told Molly, a librarian at New Mexico State University

and the compiler of LA GUIA (the Guide to), Internet Resources for Latin America and

president of SALALM (Seminar on the Acquisition of Latin American Library Materials)

that I was taking a position at Texas A&M she said I was a brave man. As fronterizos, we

sometimes live far away from la frontera. When I was at Texas A&M and people talked

about la frontera in that part of occupied Mexico-- they were most surely talking about

Laredo, or Brownsville, not El Paso/Cd. Juárez, but el valle, “the Valley” as it is called in

Texas. El Paso/Cd. Juárez was too far for them to fathom. El Paso/Cd. Juárez was 600

miles away. Nuevo Mexico is even further. California is a dream and a three-hour flight

from Houston, sitting in the middle seat next to two skinny teens listening to their iPods.

We fronterizos cannot always live and work en la frontera, so sometimes we take

la frontera with us. For many of us, the border is always in us. The border within us

helps us when we approach obstacles in our paths—what would have my father, also a

fronterizo, have done? If he was facing White men straight in their eyes and mixing

words with them in a meeting would be have disagreed like I do? Would he have held his

ground, like I try to, would be have challenged them, like I often do? I have the truth on

my side but sometimes the truth is not enough, there is also politics, favortism, celos--

issues of power. There is distrust for us fronterizos in boardrooms, in higher education, in

libraries—we typically hear them say “Why don’t fronterizos all go back to the border

where they belong?” Perhaps fronterizos have been gone too long from la frontera and

they need to go back and toil with their hands but little do people know that the border is

constantly within us. Non-fronterizos don’t know that not all fronterizos belong at the

border; like one credit card promotes, we belong everywhere we want to be.

My father was a brilliant man but he didn’t have access to that priceless

education. He did not learn to speak English fluently and didn’t get to learn big words to

be able to converse equally with educated men. He didn’t learn to write in English to get

through school, must less high school, much less college--graduate school was an

algoridom. He didn’t live long enough to see me get my masters in library science in

another frontera, not the U.S./Mexican border, but the U.S./Canadian border. I went from

living in El Paso, Texas to Buffalo, New York, from one border to another, to obtain my

MLS (masters in library science) at SUNY Buffalo. People are astounded and look at me

in disbelief when I tell them I received my MLS not in the Aztlán states of Tejas, Nuevo

Mexico, Arizona or California, but from SUNY Buffalo and I lived to tell about it—that,

like a piece of pink Bubblelicious bubble gum, I stretched la frontera Chicano/a

experience now to include New York State and Canada. Many people may think that I

am lying when I tell them I got my masters from Buffalo. “He is a fronterizo lying to

obtain stature,” they may state.

I am grateful that my parents forced me to speak, read and write Spanish.

Spanish, reminds me that I am a product of something greater than the English language

could ever be. My parents made sure I spoke it at home and that I used it properly with
my abuelos and relatives; that I respected Spanish and that I kept close to my heart and

mind. If I had not listened to them I would not be where I am today. I would only be

comprehending a small percentage of the important discussions in the world, so many of

the histories being told, some of the great literature and art being being produced, and a

few of the great films and theater, semi-futuros being cast.

As a fronterizo, I am always in search of community and sometimes those

communities find us. And as good fronterizos, when we are asked to serve, we do and

sometimes these communities are not solely ethnic. Once you are a fronterizo you can

use that union card to venture into other borders because the border is always within us.

We fronterizos know how to straddle cultures, languages, customs and sexualities. We

know what life is like to live in-between, in the middle and away from the polarities. We

know how to make do, we know the struggle, but we also know the riches. As

fronterizos, the border is always within us, we are always at the border.

Soy Chicano y soy fronterizo. I follow a path marked by many other Chicano/a

Mexicano/a fronterizos/zas: Gilbert Roland, Anthony Quinn, Ruben Salazar, Vickie Carr,

Ricardo Sanchez, Abelardo Delgado, Arturo Islas, Jose Antonio Burciaga, Isela Portillo

Trambley, Alicia Gaspar de Alba, Ben Saenz, Pat Mora, John Rechy, Sergio Troncoso,

Ray Gonzalez, Lee Trevino, Earl Shorris, Bert Corona, Edwardo Jose Olvera, Abelardo

Delgado, Juan Contreras, Ricardo Aguilar, Socorro “Coquis” Tabuenca, Rosalio San

Miguel, Rosalia Solorzano, Francisca Hernandez, Willivaldo Delgadillo, Zulma Mendez,

Sylvia Peregrino, Alberto Esquinca, Roberto Rodriguez, Rich Yanez, Dagoberto Gilb,

Denise Chavez, Ben Saenz, Robert Chavez, Willie Varela. All from the border, many
having lived and loved there, some having died there—many still there. One day, I too,

will return, meanwhile I am away, dreaming of la frontera.