Of Race, Language and Class

Twenty years ago, I sat next to beautiful blond, blue-eyed young lady from Mexico City during my wife and my honeymoon cruise aboard the ship Carla Costa in the Caribbean. She spoke no English but through some passable Spanish I remember learning she had a little girl. In retrospect, I learned a lot more on a ship in which the biggest single group of passengers was Mexican as was most of the crew.

And that lesson was, none of the crew was blond or blue-eyed. In fact, they all looked Indian, some as if they could have walked out of a Mayan or Aztec carving. Conversely, none of the Mexican passengers I met resembled Indians. The passengers were clearly educated and affluent; the crew, certainly not affluent and probably much less educated.

It’s probably all the discussion about immigration and language in the United States that recently had me thinking about the divisions that showed up during this week-long voyage that took us from San Juan to Curacao to the coast of Venezuela and then Grenada, Martinique, St. Thomas and back to San Juan.

There was no escaping the divisions, for instance the very clear class/race distinction of the Mexicans.

Nor, on a day trips into the Venezuelan capital of Caracas, was it possible to escape a loud-mouthed American couple, the kind that could pose for the Ugly American poster. They objected to the sound of Spanish being spoken. They were upset that the vendors in the Old City wouldn’t take dollars. I was hoping for a vendor that said, “We’re not with the idiots T Shirt.”

On the way back to the boat, the guide pointed to the rancheros, the shanties clinging to the mountain side over looking the highway and said how happy all these people were and how they loved Americans. I remember telling my wife, “I’d love to hear what he says when the tourists aren’t around.” Of course, it was that same year some of these same glowing locals rioted.  It looked doubtful many of them saw the Old City, except perhaps as street vendors.

Back on the ship on night, the very Italian captain on this ship of Italian registry held a reception. That drew together the three groups of passengers who were, in order of numbers, Mexicans, Americans and Italians.

Time being squeezed the Captain announced he would make his statements in Spanish and English only. At that point, two tables of young Italians got up and left the room, leaving a very angry captain.

I don’t know if there are any great lessons in this other than these things that divide us do not often leave us.