"Argue": It's A Cultural Thing

"Argue."
"Argue," everyone repeated.
"Argue," Ms. Jane said again.

They had led us down the hall and told us to start class in one of the sixth grade Bible study classrooms. It was cooler in there, Mr. Byrne had said. Secretly I knew it wasn't too hot in the other room like Mr. Byrne had said it was. Stuffy, sure. But hot was not a good word for it. Hot was like Mexico City, and Hermosillo, and Lima, and Toluca. Those were the cities represented by the four students in the room.

There was Jose, with his neck and wrist tattoos that sported his name, Sanchez, with a flouish on the Z. There was Marta, who looked like skin and bones and red lipstick. There was Raul, with his wide grin and large, weathered hands. And then Roberto, from Peru, who was the pastor over the Spanish language services. He remembered me from when I came with Daneil Castillo.

"I remember you," he had said across the table, though nobody else knew why he was pointing it out. Raul had even laughed like something funny had been said, mostly because he didn't understand what was going on. Roberto tapped his forehead and then pointed at me, unsmiling. I chuckled and told him I remembered him too. How could I have forgotten the man who sent letters to my apartment, handwritten in Spanish, assuming I was Daniel's wife. He probably thought we had separated, which was quite different from breaking up, and in Latin culture, as I recalled, was somewhat unforgiveable. I would have bet money that he blamed me for that. After all, I was American. All I did was rape and pillage other peoples' cultures and probably behave like some junky on Maury Povich.

"American girls like to use us Latin boys," Daniel had told me one time. "Because we're hard workers, American girls will sit on their hands and sleep and watch tv and eat out all the time, using our money. Sometimes they are lazy and don't get jobs, or they don't get good enough jobs."
I had resented that. I was busting my butt trying to do better for myself. I had finished high school and finished college and obtained teaching certification, and just because I wanted to change my career path and make myself happier Daniel was questioning my work ethic.
Never mind the many Latin boys that couldn't read, couldn't write, couldn't get jobs because they were illegal, and who sponged off of American girls and the American economy as a whole. Nevermind that, of course.

"Argue," everyone said, Jose a halfbeat behind the others. He was tapping his foot on the floor and wrapping and unwrapping his long brown fingers around the sharp tipped pencil he'd brought. The Adult Literacy books in front of everyone had different things scrawled in them. Sometimes Spanish words and sometimes English.
"Arguing is... when two people don't agree. They argue. They... get angry. They..."
"Like a fight?" Marta asked. She had recently been moved up from the Beginners class.
"Yes. Like a fight with words." Ms. Jane perked up and nodded. She was an accountant in her sixties and was actually very pretty. Her smile was very glowing, and when she smiled at Marta it was almost like she was patting her on the back. It was amazing how comforting she could be just by looking at you.
"Que?" Jose poked Marta.
"Discusion," she said in Spanish, and Jose scribbled the translated word onto his word list.
"Do you ever have arguments?" Ms. Jane was opening up the floor for discussion. Jose kept staring at his book, and Roberto, the pastor, looked blankly at the page in front of him. I wondered just how much he understood. It was ironic that he would be using the same English Outreach program that his church had created for the community.
"Raul, do you have arguments at work? Anybody ever tell you they think the electric should be wired a different way than you think? Do you ever disagree?"
Raul smiled his wide smile and folded his hands in front of him. "No... No."
"Jose, do you argue about anything?"
Jose flushed. I could see it from the side of his face as he looked at Ms. Jane and then down again. "Me, no..."
Ms. Jane looked at me, like what a help they are. I let out a little amused breath and Ms. Jane continued.
"So... in your culture, it seems to me, people don't argue very much. Is that right?"
Raul shrugged slowly and smiled, considering it.
"Sometimes..." Marta said.
"But you're pretty laid back in general?" Ms. Jane pressed. "Your culture is slow to anger, it seems. You tend to go with the flow. Less argumentative than Americans, huh?" And she laughed like it was so funny.
Everyone else laughed, too. Roberto said nothing. And I thought about Daniel Castillo.

I argued with Daniel Castillo way more than I cared to remember. I argued about why I was a good person. I argued about why I should live in my own apartment. I argued about the definition of independent and I argued about its importance. I argued about why wanting to lose weight didn't mean I was trying to look good for other people. I argued about how quick comments to a cashier didn't count as flirting. I argued that Daniel shouldn't leave me because he worried he was too ugly or too illegal. I argued via text message. I argued on the phone. I argued in my apartment and broke a glass frame containing a prom picture of my high school sweetheart and I. Daniel had argued that if I still had our prom picture lying around, it meant I was still in love with him. I argued that prom was ten years ago, and that my high school sweetheart lived across the country and was married to someone else. I argued about the broken glass when it shattered against the corner of the table. Daniel argued that I was out of control. And I probably was.

I couldn't make him understand. He argued with me about things that never should have been questioned. And maybe its the fact that in my culture trust is implied until proven true, not doubted until proven false, but I am sick and tired of having to prove myself to people beyond the limits of reason based solely upon the fact that I'm American. They'll deny that as the cause, but when it comes down to it people from other cultures don't trust me because I'm American. They don't trust me because women are independent here, and strong. And it takes a lot of arguing, a lot of tears, and a lot of backbreaking work just to show them who you really are. So laid back and agreeable? Those were not synonyms for Daniel Castillo.

"Argue is not a good word for today, is it?" Ms. Jane looked back down at her book. "You guys really don't do that very much. I guess it's a cultural thing."