Another look at JULIAN IS A MERMAID

Dear Readers—

Since I wrote and published our review of Julián Is a Mermaid (see it here), there has been much online discussion about this book. Dr. Laura Jiménez has just published a personal and profound essay—entitled Trans People Aren’t Mythical Creatures—and, in the hopes that her writing will generate more of this important discussion, I asked her for permission to reprint portions of her essay here and she generously consented.

Dr. Jiménez’s essay begins:

In research we often provide what is referred to as a positionality statement. It helps our readers understand who we are, how our experiences and identities effect our understandings of the subject we are writing about. Positionality statements help avoid the fiction that research is neutral. In the age of #OwnVoices I have come to realize, or maybe I have come to admit to the realization, that I believe an author’s identity, community, and experiences informs the work they produce.

Then, Dr. Jiménez calls attention to the ramifications—of this story and its author/illustrator and its publication and the publishing industry—on the queer community and especially on queer young people. She writes,

Literacy is a social act, and I find that my reading of the world is better when done in collaboration with others who do not share my view of the world, my history, or my identity. So, I talked to teachers who are Dominican, to librarians, and finally, to a trans girl named Indigo. 

Had I known then—when I read and loved and wrote about Julián Is a Mermaid—what I know now, I would not have published the review as I wrote it. What I felt then was the power and love that Julián’s abuela felt in encouraging her young grandson to grow into his authentic self. This was apparent to me in the first few pages, in which Julián looks questioningly at a picture book of mermaids that his abuela had given him. As the story progresses, Julián comes out to his abuela, becoming more and more secure in himself and how he “fits” into his community. That, to me, was what empowerment looked like. 

But Dr. Jiménez saw something that I hadn’t seen:

The ease in which Julián’s abuela accepts and encourages him to show his whole self might be something the author put into the book as a wish or hope. But, by creating this almost immediate acceptance, Jessica Love negated the real struggle so many Latinx LGBTQ people must go through. Is that is the message the author is trying to send? Probably. But, it lands flat to me. For me, this comes from a place of privilege that would rather a mermaid trope carry the message and ignore the very real issues at work.

Read her entire essay here.

Dr. Jiménez nailed it. For queer children, empowerment—not to mention sheer survival—rarely comes so easily. I fell in love with this story precisely because of what had remained hidden. As a person from outside the queer community—even with dear friends who are queer—I hadn’t seen it. I see it now. 

The comments appeared on social media after I had published our review, and I hadn’t taken into account the negative effects that Julián Is a Mermaid, written and illustrated through the lens of a white cisgender author, might have on those who are empowering themselves to speak out—and those who are still not able to speak out. Jessica Love is extremely talented, and the book she’s created is lovely—but it’s not enough.

I would never write a story from outside my own community. It would be wrong. And I was taught by example, long ago, that those of us who evaluate books from outside of our own communities or experiences must listen to those from inside. 

In Professor Jiménez’s piece, she quotes Librarian Angie Manfredi, who wrote: 

Our library copy of JULIAN IS A MERMAID has finally arrived and it is adorable but I NEED everyone in #kidlit to acknowledge it would NOT be getting this amount of love and attention if it were written by a gender non-conforming queer IPOC—it might not even have been published.

When that comment first appeared, I pushed back. I loved this story and, in many ways, still do. But in retrospect, I agree that such a story “written by a gender-nonconforming queer IPOC” probably wouldn’t have seen the light of day. Because, for the most part, large and mid-sized publishers accept only “agented” manuscripts, and, in order to get through the door of a publishing house, authors and illustrators not only must be talented, but must be “marketable” as well—they must represent a certain “image” in the publishers’ collective consciousness. And, at this point, while #OwnVoices is being touted as the new “multiculturalism,” the door to publishing is still pretty much slammed shut to queer authors and illustrators (especially Indigenous / People of Color) who write and illustrate stories for and about queer children (especially Indigenous / People of Color). We all have a lot of work to do.

So, many thanks to Dr. Laura Jiménez and all those who have exposed an obvious problem that many of us had not seen. Because moving forward is sometimes painful—but the pain of ignored and underrepresented communities is far worse.

In gratitude,

Beverly Slapin
(published 9/29/18)

Children's Books about César Chávez: Telling or Showing?

Many reviewers of books for young readers give a free pass to the often-oversimplified narratives and illustrations that constitute pictorial biographies. I have seen and heard, more often than not, comments to the effect that these are “just” for children and therefore, should not contain more than brief chronologies of events. It is my firm belief, however, that young children who are challenged to think deeply are capable of understanding complex issues and responding positively. Values such as “empathy,” “honesty,” “kindness,” “respect” and “fairness,” among others, can be encouraged early on if they are modeled in life—and shown in picture books.

I use the word “shown” because one of my other firm beliefs is that children shown how to think are more likely—than are those who are “told” only what to think—to develop into critical readers and thinkers, children who will apply what they have learned to their lives.

To illustrate how some picture books “show” and others “tell,” let’s look at a pair of excerpts, each from the introduction to a picture book about César Chávez. Following the excerpts are my comments.

Excerpt 1:  

As a child, Cesar Chavez traveled with his family from one farm to the next to pick beans, broccoli, lettuce, and other crops. After a day in the fields, his back often ached. His hands were sore. Yet Chavez and others who helped put food on Americans’ tables often had no tables of their own, no real homes. Later, Cesar Chavez would lead the fight for better pay, working conditions, and health care for families such as his.[1]

Excerpt 2:

¡Híjole!

Who could tell?

Who could tell

that Cesario Estrada Chávez,

the shy American

wearing a checkered shirt,

walking with a cane to ease his back

from the burden of the fields,

could organize so many people

to march for La Causa, The Cause!

Who could tell

that he with a soft pan dulce voice,

hair the color of mesquite,

and downcast, Aztec eyes,

would have the courage to speak up

for the campesinos

to get better pay,

better housing,

better health?

¡Híjole!

Who could tell?[2]

Comments: While Excerpt 1 implies that César Chávez was born poor, that he had no real home, and that he was not American, Excerpt 2 makes no such implications.[3] While Excerpt 1 dispassionately tells young readers that “after a day in the fields, his back often ached” and “his hands were sore,” Excerpt 2 shows them the effects of a lifetime of difficult labor: “walking with a cane to ease his back/ from the burden of the fields.” While Excerpt 2 shows young readers how César Chávez belonged to the land and the culture (“shy American,” “hair the color of mesquite,” “soft pan dulce voice,” and “downcast Aztec eyes”), Excerpt 1 does not.

Now, here are some more excerpts from picture books about César Chávez, including the ones we’ve already examined. Each excerpt below either “shows” or “tells” about an aspect of his life. In each category: Which ones carry stated or unstated assumptions that “tell” children what to think? Which ones “show” or gently lead children into understanding? Which ones are more likely to engage child readers? Which ones are more likely to encourage empathy in child readers?

Early Childhood

Facts: As a young child, Cesario Chávez lived with his large extended family on an 80-acre ranch, where the family produced all that they needed, not only for a comfortable life, but also to stock their grocery store and feed homeless people who happened by. Cesario and his siblings were raised on the dichos of their mother, the examples of their father, and the stories of their grandparents—and lots of love. He later wrote, “I had more happy moments as a child than unhappy moments.”

Cesar Chavez was born in 1927 near Yuma, Arizona. His family had a grocery store and a farm. Cesar was born in a little room over the grocery store.[4]

Everyone in the Chavez family worked on their farm. Cesar’s father planted seeds in the dirt. He hoed away the weeds. He dug ditches to bring water from the river to the farm. Without water, the crops could not grow. Cesar and Richard fed the horses, cows, and chickens. They gathered eggs. Rita washed clothes by hand. Juana made tortillas from ground corn. Their family was poor.[5]

Cesar woke up early each morning and did the usual farm chores. He carried water from the nearby canal, fed the animals, and gathered eggs. Then he went to school.[6]

Until Cesar Chavez was ten, every summer night was like a fiesta. Relatives swarmed onto the ranch for barbeques with watermelon, lemonade, and fresh corn. Cesar and his brothers, sisters, and cousins settled down to sleep outside, under netting to keep mosquitoes out. But who could sleep—with uncles and aunts singing, spinning ghost stories, and telling magical tales of life back in Mexico? Cesar thought the whole world belonged to his family. The eighty acres of their ranch were an island in the shimmering Arizona desert, and the starry skies were all their own.[7] 

Family

Facts: Cesario’s extended family was huge: Besides grandparents, parents, sisters and brothers, there were aunts, uncles and cousins. These loving role models were always around. From his father, he learned the value of honest work, however hard—and the inequities of the farm labor system. From his mother, he learned the value of compassion and the importance of caring for poor and homeless people. From his grandparents, aunts and uncles, he learned about faith, the history of his people, and how to read in Spanish.

Cesar’s father was often too busy to spend time with his family. It was Cesar’s mom who kept them together. She told her children stories. She taught them values and many proverbs, such as “What you do to others, others do to you.”[8]

At night, Cesar watched his father make toy cars from tin cans and small pieces of wood. Cesar and his brothers played with their cars on the floor. At bedtime, their grandmother listened to the children’s prayers.[9]

(Librado) taught César

how to make cars

out of sardine cans

and tractors

out of spools of thread….

Tugged at César’s ears

and patted his head….

(Juana) often spoke to César in dichos,

taught him from the Bible.

“What does the Lord require of you,

but to do justice,

to love kindness,

and to walk humbly with your God?”

Hated violence.

“God gave you senses,

like your eyes, and mind, and tongue

and you can get out of everything.”

Gave César manzanilla tea,

and hugged him tight.[10]

Until Cesar Chavez was ten, every summer night was like a fiesta. Relatives swarmed onto the ranch for barbeques with watermelon, lemonade, and fresh corn. Cesar and his brothers, sisters, and cousins settled down to sleep outside, under netting to keep mosquitoes out. But who could sleep—with uncles and aunts singing, spinning ghost stories, and telling magical tales of life back in Mexico?[11] 

César learned from his parents. His mother told him many stories that taught about the importance of helping the poor and not being violent. César’s grandmother also taught him how to believe in God and the teachings of the Catholic Church. César’s uncle taught him to read in Spanish.[12]

School

Facts: School was a horrible time for young Cesario. Here is where his name was changed to “Cesar,” and he was taught that all that he learned from his family was worthless; that he was “less than” because he spoke, read and wrote in Spanish. The usual punishment for young César and his Spanish-speaking friends was humiliation—and to have the Spanish beaten out of them. Needless to say, he hated school. But he remained, learning to speak, read and write English, and learning the other skills that would serve him later in life. César was the first in his family to graduate from eighth grade.

The teacher told the children to speak English. Speaking English was hard. Everyone spoke Spanish at home. Many times, Cesar forgot to speak English. Then the teachers hit his fingers with a ruler.[13]

The Chavez family spoke Spanish at home; but in school, whenever Cesar spoke Spanish, his teacher hit him. “It’s a terrible thing,” he later said, “when you have your own language and customs, and those are shattered.”[14]

School was an unwelcoming place. He wasn’t allowed to speak Spanish, the family’s household language. In fact speaking it brought on punishment. All Cesar would remember of school was the whistling of the ruler as it came down on his wrist or knuckles.[15]

Once, after Cesar broke the rule about speaking English at all times, a teacher hung a sign on him that read, I AM A CLOWN. I SPEAK SPANISH. He came to hate school because of the conflicts, though he liked to learn.[16]

One word in Spanish,

 just one word,

and ¡Fuii! whistled the ruler

across César’s knuckles

its edge cutting sharply.

The teacher hung a sign

around his neck:

“I am a clown.

I speak Spanish.”

“If you’re an American,”

 she said,

“speak only in English.

If you want to speak in Spanish,

go back to Mexico.”[17]

In 1992, I worked with an ad hoc group of Bay Area parents, students, school workers and community activists. Together, we gave our skills and life experiences to a project that evaluated a set of history and social studies textbooks with a collective eye on giving our diverse community’s children what they needed to survive and thrive.[18] The insidious message with the focus of these textbooks, as we stated, was this: “In order for some children to be proud of their histories, other children must be made ashamed of theirs.” We went on to say, “We have to teach (all our children) who they are, where they came from, and how they can change the world.”

It’s not enough for children to be told the facts. Children need to be shown to see the colors, hear the music, sniff the air, taste the food, touch the trees and feel the emotions. ¡Sí, se puede!

—Beverly Slapin
(published 12/8/13)

---

[1] David A. Adler and Michael S. Adler, A Picture Book of Cesar Chavez, illustrated by Marie Olofsdotter. Holiday House, 2010.

[2] Carmen T. Bernier-Grand, César: ¡Sí, Se puede! Yes, We Can!, illustrated by David Diaz. Marshall Cavendish, 2004.

[3] In fact, young César and his family lived in a spacious adobe house that his grandfather had built many years earlier. As Kathleen Krul writes, “Cesar thought the whole world belonged to his family. The eighty acres of their ranch were an island in the shimmering Arizona desert, and the starry skies were all their own.” It wasn’t until César was ten years old, when the Great Depression hit, that the Chávez family joined hundreds of thousands fleeing to California to seek itinerant work.

[4] Susan Eddy, Cesar Chavez. Children’s Press, 2003.

[5] Ginger Wadsworth, Cesar Chavez, illustrated by Mark Schroder. Lerner, 2004.

[6] Adler, op. cit.

[7] Kathleen Krull, Harvesting Hope: The Story of Cesar Chavez, illustrated by Yuyi Morales. Harcourt, 2003.

[8] Adler, op. cit.

[9] Wadsworth, op. cit.

[10] Bernier-Grand, op. cit.

[11] Krull, op. cit.

[12] Richard Griswold del Castillo, César Chávez: The Struggle for Justice / La lucha por la justicia, illustrated by Anthony Accardo. Piñata Books, 2002.

[13] Wadsworth, op. cit.

[14] Adler, op. cit.

[15] Gary Soto, Cesar Chavez: A Hero for Everyone, illustrated by Lori Lohstoeter. Aladdin, 2003.

[16] Krull, op. cit.

[17] Bernier-Grand, op. cit.

[18] Our evaluation, which we distributed widely, was entitled, Communities United against Racism in Education: CURE Analysis, Houghton Mifflin History/Social Science Series, 1991.

Tale of Two "Dictators": Fidel Castro’s Cuba // Augusto Pinochet’s Chile

Both of these titles can serve as a caveat to librarians who are likely to purchase poorly-researched and poorly-written cookie-cutter books in order to serve the needs of homework-driven students.

All of the volumes in the Twenty-First Century’s “Dictatorships” series highlight “nondemocratic forms of government.”[1] In each volume, the bold, blocky design consists of jarring red, black and olive graphics that surround mainly black-and-white photos. On the cover of each is a color photo or artistic rendition of the individual “dictator”—except for Fidel Castro’s Cuba. Here, the cover represents Fidel[2] by an ominous black silhouette; the book is, indeed, the shadow of Fidel as seen from the myopic view of the world according to the Cuban exile community in Miami.[3]

Skippyjon Jones: Transforming a Racist Stereotype into an Industry

author: Judy Schachner

illustrator: Judy Schachner

publisher: Dutton Children’s Books, 2007

kindergarten-grade 3

Mexican American

When I was a child, Isaac Bashevis Singer was my favorite storyteller, and he remains so today. Born in Poland at the turn of the 20^th century, Singer always wrote and published in Yiddish—because he thought that when all the Jewish souls came back, they’d probably like something good to read—and later edited his stories into English versions.

Some of my favorite of his children’s stories took place in the fictional stetl he called “Chelm,” in which all of the Chelmites, but especially the elders, were fools. His use of Yiddish—which I understood pretty well because it was the language my maternal grandma, my aunts and my mother spoke when they didn’t want me or my younger sister to understand what they were saying—was rhythmic, with a cadence that was easy to replicate. “Chelm” was pronounced with the gutteral “ch” and, although I never identified with the ridiculous elders—Gronam Ox, Dopey Lekisch, Zeinvel Ninny, Treitel Fool, Sender Donkey, Schmendrick Numskull, and Feivel Thickwit—I enjoyed their foolish solutions to everyday problems. In one story I remember, Chelm had a shortage of milk, so the elders, after much pondering and discussion, decided to call “water,” “milk” and “milk,” “water,” thereby making sure there would always be enough “milk” for everyone.

Singer’s Chelm stories showed children how not to solve problems by demonstrating Chelmite problem solving. The primary audience for his children’s stories was Jewish children, and he never mocked immigrant Jewish cultures or the Yiddish language itself. There were no fake dialects and no invented words or phrases. And even when Singer’s stories had been translated into English, the “Yiddishisms” remained intact.

Because he wrote his stories in his primary language and situated them in his own culture—and because Isaac Bashevis Singer was a brilliant writer, I doubt that this kind of work could be replicated by a linguistic or cultural outsider.

So, what does all of this have to do with Judy Schachner’s Skippyjon Jones books for children? It’s all about land, language, culture and community.

Skippyjon Jones did not appear in a vacuum. His cultural roots stem from other well-known stereotypes of Mexican people, nourished by NAFTA and the immigrant-bashing and modern English-only movements.

In 1953, “Speedy Gonzalez” came along. Speedy was a cartoon mouse who had the ability to run really fast and had an exaggerated Mexican accent. He wore an oversized yellow sombrero, white shirt and pants, and a red bandana, and ran circles around his nemesis, Sylvester the Cat (“the greengo poosygato”), while shouting, “Arriba! Arriba! Andale! Andale! YEE-HAH!”

In 1967, the “Frito Bandito” appeared on the scene. This cartoon mascot for Fritos Corn Chips was dressed as a “Mexican bandit” and sang, to the tune of the traditional Mexican song, “Cielito Lindo”: ¡Ay, ay, ay, ay! Oh, I am dee Frito Bandito. I like Frito's Corn Chips, I love them, I do. I want Frito's corn chips. I'll take them from you.”

In 1997, the Taco Bell Chihuahua was born. He was a real Chihuahua who was sometimes costumed as a Mexican revolutionary, sometimes as a sombrero-wearing “bandito,” and sometimes as just a street-smart Chihuahua. The main catchphrase of the ads was “¡Yo quiero Taco Bell!”

Speedy Gonzalez, the Frito Bandito, and the Taco Bell Chihuahua are gone now, but their legacy lives on in Skippyjon Jones, a cat who transforms himself into a Chihuahua and throws around made-up Spanish words that are condescending and mocking to Mexican and Mexican American people and the Spanish language.

In addition to a plethora of Skippyjon Jones books, skippyjonjones.com offers digital prints, iPad applications, sticker stories, sing-along puzzles, stuffed toys, hand puppets, party packs, tote bags, t-shirts, pajamas, costumes, and more. Indeed, Skippyjon Jones has transformed himself into a lucrative industry.

So, let’s get to the books. As an example and because this stuff gives me the dry heaves, I’ll review just one: Skippyjon Jones and the Big Bones.

Skippyjon Jones (the Siamese cat) wants to be a paleontologist, so he digs up his neighbor’s dog’s bones, puts on his cape and mask, emerges as “El Skippito Friskito,” and begins to sing:

Oh, my name is Skippito Friskito (clap-clap) / And I hunt for the dinosaur-ito (clap-clap) / With gigantico ears / That’s been buried for years / Under layers of sediment-ito.” (clap-clap)

Deep within his closet, the alleged fun begins, as Skippito meets up with his old friends, “los Chimichangos stinkitos.” They are toasting “los marshmallocitos prehistóricos” that are hard as rocas because they are “fossilitos.”

“Fossilitos, schmossilitos,” declared Poquito Tito, the smallest of the small ones. “We want to see los dinosaurios with our own ojos,” he said, pointing to his eyes. 

“¿Por qué? asked Skippito.

“Because, Bobocito,” said Don Diego, the biggest of the small ones, “We hear they are reelly, reelly beeg, dude!”

Hearing the news, the Chihuahuas go “insane-o” and sing:

Ding-a-ling, ding-a-long, ding-a-lito (clap-clap) / You are such a silly Skippito. (clap-clap) / You know what dogs think: / If it’s good it must stink! / Plus it’s great for the old snifferito! (clap-clap)

Soon, there’s an “earthquake-ito” and the Chimichangos begin to rumba around a “T. Mexito.” Skippito warns them that they “will be crushed like crispitos beneath the dinos’ toes-titos!” So Skippitito lets out a big “Jurassic-o bark,” and the “T. Mexito” thinks the Chihuahua is a “Skipposaurusito,” and the dinosaurs go “extincto.”

I’ll stop the narrative here. Schachner’s expressive acrylic and pen-and-ink illustrations, on a palette of bright, bold colors, would be very appealing, were it not for these godawful stories themselves.

I’m not sure why the reviewers from the major review journals find these books funny, and apparently think that made-up Spanish words are “Spanglish.” FYI, for those who don’t already know: Spanish is a complex language, with the same parts of speech as English, and with similar grammatical rules. Spanglish is a flexible language that jumps the barrier, a blend of Spanish, English, and sometimes Caló, a Chicano-based street language. The gifted Chicano poet, José Antonio Burciaga, often constructed poems in Spanish, English, and Spanglish—and sometimes entirely in Caló.

The bottom line: Adding “ito” to an English word does not make it Spanish. Further, you don’t just make stuff up and call it “Spanglish.” Mocking someone’s language and culture in this way is not “silly,” it’s racist. The Skippyjon Jones books and materials are insulting to Spanish-speaking children who are learning English, English-speaking children who are learning Spanish, and their parents and communities.

But more important, they prepare young children to accept immigrant-bashing, stop-and-frisk searches, the forced breakup of Mexican families, the impoverishment of farmworkers, and the racist campaign against the Mexican American students in Arizona.

Indeed, the Skippyjon Jones “industry” is a model for how racist stereotypes are marketed to young children. If Judy Schachner is capable of any shame, now would be a good time to post a public apology, shut down her business and turn over all of her profits to the courageous young Mexican American students in Arizona who are fighting to liberate themselves from the racist “education” they are receiving at the hands of the Tucson Unified School District.

Estos “Skippyjon Jones” títulos son muy estúpidos y racistas and way not recommended.

—Beverly Slapin
(published 4/6/13)