Tag Archives: Identity

Back from El Salvador, overwhelmed, excited and exhausted.

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Update: This was originally posted April 5th, on Kickstarter but since not everyone gets those updates I’m reposting it here.

John Films/Directs an interview

Wow, what an amazing week. When John and I first started this project we had no idea what to expect. In fact, after completing kickstarter in the Fall, we debated a lot about the best way to start this project. Then about a month and a half ago I received an email from Pro-Busqueda telling me about the Day of The Disappeared in March. John and I weren’t sure what to expect but we knew we had to be there.

This week has been beyond anything either of us could have imagined. For 7 days, we met other disappeared youth and their families. We talked with government officials including the president of El Salvador and the first lady. We interviewed survivors from the war who told us personal stories of suffering and loss. It was an emotional roller coaster.

Amazingly, despite all the terrible things that have happened to this country and its people, there is still so much beauty. The strength and courage of the people who live here is unbelievable. While many remain skeptical about the possibility of long term change, their view of what happened is remarkable.

I was floored when a survivor of one of the bloodiest massacres in all of Central America said to me: “Maybe I have suffered more than others, maybe others have suffered more than me, but what’s important is finding the missing children.” This is coming from someone who as an 11 year old child witnessed his entire village wiped out and then was tortured by military forces. He is not bitter or angry. All he wants is for the disappeared to be found.

John and I know that the footage we got was special. These stories are truly amazing and deserve to be heard. Our initial reaction was to post the videos online, as soon as we got home, so you could see for yourself. However I’m not sure if this does the stories justice.

One thing I have learned from John is that the way you introduce people is important. We want to make sure everyone understands the significance of what was said and it is presented in the best way possible. This of course means sitting on the footage while we sort through it, clean it up and edit it.

Balancing the editorial process with the excitement we both have for getting these stories out there is hard. From the start, we wanted this project to be as open and transparent as possible. All of our footage would be online right now if we thought it was the best way to approach the subject matter. As we work on the next steps we will be looking for creative ways to share our experiences and footage with you. I’m not sure what form that will take but we will let you know as soon as we can.

Stuck between worlds, hoping I never have to choose.

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It’s my last night in Panama. My birth father and I are sitting at the dining room table eating dinner. My stepmother and sister are away, so it’s just us. As we finish, he looks at me and asks:

“So, are you Nelson or Roberto?”

I pause for a second before replying “Both.”

I don’t think I’ve always felt this way. When I first found out my birth name was Roberto, I wasn’t sure if I liked it.

“I don’t feel like a Roberto.” I would say to myself.

Over the years, as I grew closer to my family in Central America, the name grew on me as well. It even got to the point where I would secretly cringe when family in Central America called me by my American name. In this place I was Roberto.

Of course, the reverse was true in the US. There I could not be anyone other than Nelson. Occasionally when I told friends my birth name was Roberto, they would proclaim that they would start calling me that. To this day no one who has met me as Nelson has been able to call me Roberto. Even my Spanish speaking friends can’t make the transition.

Somewhere over the years I absorbed this other identity. I never changed who I was but I allowed this other world to become a part of me. Now, many years later, the two lives and worlds pull me in different directions.

So now what to do? Now that I have these two identities and two lives what do I do with them? I feel like the world wants me to pick.

“You can’t be both you have to choose one.”

I think somewhere deep down inside I am afraid that picking one of these lives means giving up the other.

From time to time my birth father asks when I am going to “settle down.” When I am going to get a job that is going to give me a stable base. I hesitate to tell him that I would not see him as much.

When I finished college, I worked a job that only gave me two weeks of vacation. Sure it provided security, but I sacrificed this whole other part of my life.

Of course, he has his own ideas. He would love for me to live there and work in the family business. Unfortunately, staying in Panama is an equally tough decision. I’ve realized many of the activities that I love are a lot easier to come by in the US. There is also the honest truth that there are more opportunities in the US than Panama.

I try to explain this to my father. I tell him how no matter where I go I’m always missing someone and the only solution I see is to always be traveling. I’m not sure if he understands. How can he? This is his world. There is no other life waiting for him in some far away land.

So here I am stuck. Stuck between worlds. Stuck between lives. One foot in US the other in Central America. One day I may have to choose but I hope, with all my heart, I never have to.

When Cultures Mix: How Knowing Me Affected My Family

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Toto 98

Ernesto visiting Boston, 1998

Visiting my family in Central America has definitely influenced me over the years. I’ve copied many aspects of the Latin American culture and made them my own. From dance to dress I feel more at home here then I ever have. What is interesting to me is the effect I have had on my family in Central America. Just like I saw in El Salvador, they have taken on some of my American culture.

My bother Ernesto recently told me that his visits to America were some of the most influential experiences of his life. A couple months after we were first were reunited he came to stay with for a 6 weeks while he took english an class in Boston. He came back in 2003 and 2004 to spend the summer. During his trips he got to see what our family was like. He noticed that we were more organized and structured than his family back home. Looking for ways to improve his own life he started to copy us. Copying those ideas had a profound impact on him.

Ernesto, now 31, plays a very important roll in the family business and yesterday he became a proud father. This is not typical for people his age in Central America. Most of his class mates already have several kids are not nearly as organized or responsible as him. In this way he is much more North American. He credits some of his success to his visting with us and his interactions with me. He was able to use certain parts of our culture to improve his life in Central America.

Besides Ernesto you can see my influence on the family and our business. We are some of the most connected and technology advanced people in David, Panama. The business heavily uses an inventory and design database to stay organized. There are computers all over the place which are networked and enable better communication. We have broadband internet in both the house and office. My birth father often skypes family in El Salvador.

My presences and culture has also had some secondary effects. An employee here learned how to be more organized from my brother. He went from being slow and not know what to do to taking an important role in the business. My older sister Eva credits her much of her success in American companies to her knowledge of English, which she learned so she could talk with me.

It’s interesting to see how reuniting with my family has spread our respective cultures to each other. We have both been exposed to new ideas and different ways of thinking. From these differences we have improved our lives and ourselves. I wish more people were brave enough step outside of their confort zone and experience new cultures and ideas.

Growing Up Without Culture

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A couple weeks ago I was talking to some students in a college class. I asked them to guess what my background was. One girl raised her hand and said “Latino.” Then I asked the group to guess again, but this time I told them to base their answer on the way I dressed and talked. Someone else raised his hand and said “white.”

I then asked: “So what am I?”

While I was raised in a white middle class household, I’m not white. While I may have grown up in “white america,” I don’t necessarily feel like that defines me. When people look at me they see I’m Latino. I’ve even gotten extra questioning at airports. I’m sure my appearance had something to do with it. At the same time, other Latinos would call me gringo (white American) because I couldn’t speak Spanish. Their message was clear; you may look like us, but you are not like us. This left me feeling like an outsider to both cultural groups. I used to struggle with it a lot. I tried to figure how I could change myself to fit into one these groups.

What I eventually realized was that I had no culture. I know it’s impossible not to have any culture, but I couldn’t clearly define what mine was.

I know I’m American, but I don’t completely identify with Americans. Growing up there was a strong German influence in my house. At Christmas we would have German cookies and we often said a German grace at dinner. I was even fluent in German at one point. However, as I spent more time in Central America, that culture became a part of me as well. I started to like the music and learned how to dance. I learned the different sayings and copied the way they dressed.

All of these experiences gave me the freedom to enjoy other cultures. Experiencing other cultures meant being an outsider to the group. Since I grew up constantly feeling like an outsider I’m not scared to be only person in the room of a different race or background. I’ve learned how to blend in and mimic the people around me.

I feel like people are too often defined by their culture. Are you in the group or not? Since I’m always an outsider I no longer worry about fitting in; I can experience new ideas or cultures and let them them become a part of me.

The Power of Culture

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During my life I’ve been exposed to many different cultures. I’ve been very fortunate to have lived and traveled to countries all over the world. This has been extremely fascinating because its given me insight into how people all over experience life.

The more I travel, the more I realize how powerful culture is and how much it defines us. It influences us in so many ways that we are not even aware of. I think cultural differences only become apparent when you are constantly being exposed to people in different countries, states and regions. You get to see the differences between the way they talk, dress, interact and even drive. Some of these differences are easy to spot but most are often so subtle that we don’t even realize it is culture.

When I first started going to Central America I noticed that many men and women made stiff hand gestures. When talking or resting, their hands seemed rigid as if they all had arthritis. At first I assumed this was the case because people here work more with their hands. As I spent more time in Central America I started to notice more people making the same gestures; people of all ages who weren’t old enough to have arthritis and didn’t work manual labor jobs. My next thought was that perhaps this was due to culture.

I know that people often share accents, but could they be sharing physical gestures as well? I had never heard about this happening before, but the more time I spent in Central America, the more it seemed to make sense. If this is the case, it’s fascinating to think that culture can influence us on such an unconscious level.

Culture effects everything from how we talk and move to the way we think. In my experience, the way culture impacts our thinking can be both good and bad. It’s good because we need various view points for new and incredible breakthroughs to happen. However, it can be bad because it can build barriers between people and ideas.

When people are confronted with an idea that is outside their cultural expectations it can be hard for them to accept, even if this new idea could help them. This can be very challenging when you are trying to help people and share a different perspective on a problem. It can also make people feel torn between worlds or ideas. Working through cultural differences can be very challenging and can take a long time.

Over the next couple of posts I want to share both my good and bad experiences with culture and the role it plays in our lives. I’ll talk about how growing up in multiple cultures shaped my world view and how I’ve noticed that people can struggle to accept the cultural expectations that have been placed on them.

I’d love to know how you think culture influences your life.

Return to El Salvador: Visiting Mariano

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Luis, Mariano and Myself

After spending a couple of days with the Escobars, I thought I should reach out to my father’s side of the family. My cousin Luis picked me up at my Aunt Dalilla’s house. We were going to his brother’s house for dinner. Before we got to dinner, we stopped by his house to wait for my cousins Cecelia and Doris. Luis lives in a small apartment on top of his father’s car parts and accessories store.

Luis’ father Mariano meets us at the doorway and invites us in so we can talk. I make my way up to the second level which is filled with chairs and other supplies. Clearly it’s being used as storage for the shop. We go up another flight of stairs to the apartment. There is one main living room. To the left is a kitchen and study room. The bedroom is to the right. The only bathroom is in the living room and is not entirely closed off. It’s tight quarters with little privacy, but it’s home. We take a seat at a big table in the living room.

I met Mariano once before in 1998. It was an emotional experience for his wife. She remembered bathing me the night before my mother and I fled the county. Mariano looks a lot older now. I don’t remember exactly what he looked like back then, but now he looks old enough to be my grandfather.

He tells me about how they used to listen to the clandestine radios during the war. They would have to turn the radio all the way down so no one could hear it. He explains that people couldn’t sit and talk as we are. He tells me how he and his wife helped my mother during the war. They took care of me and helped her get things she needed.

“Is this where you lived back then?” I ask.

He says “yes”.

I look around as I realize my mother must have stayed here with me. I can almost picture her walking around the apartment with me in her arms.

Talking to him reminds me so much of my father. The way they move is so similar. However, there is something different about Mariano. He is calm and collected. There is a sadness about him but he is not resentful. He has had a hard life and yet, I feel no bitterness or anger from him.

“Do you think things have changed?” He’s not so sure. He says, my parents fought because people were repressed and poor. 30 years later, they are still poor and all that is different is the leadership.

“What do you think about what they did?”

“Your parents were fighting for change. They believed in what they were doing but it didn’t turn out the way they thought it would. The U.S. was helping the government and this is why it didn’t work out”

I explain to him that I am in many ways the product of America. It was American foreign policy that separated me, and American culture that made me who I am. Then he says something I did not expected.

“It wasn’t the people of America that did this, it was a few powerful people who acted in their own self interest that did this.” I’m blown away by his insight and wisdom. Most of the people I have talked to about the war do not have such a clear understanding of the situation.

He talks about the gangs in El Salvador. How people will rob the busses and shoot you if you don’t give them what they want. Sadly he knows all to well how about this. A couple years ago his son was killed during a carjacking. He was sitting next to him when it happened.

“Thank God that you, Ernesto and Eva didn’t have to grow up in this.”

From where he sits we are the lucky ones. In his eyes even though we were separated from each other, we were still better off.

This trip has been difficult because it showed me what life here might have been like and it made me question the decisions my parents made. It made me wish for a simpler life, where my family is not separated. But what if we had never been separated? Would it have worked out like I imagine, or would life have been just as hard as it has been for Marino.

Would I have been happy with a life in El Salvador, or would I be searching for more? Searching for the life I have now.

Return to El Salvador: The Escobars

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For most of the past 12 years I have gotten to know my father’s side of the family more than my mother’s. This is because I usually stay with my father and sister. My family there is very “Coto,” and it’s easy to see how similar we are. When I first met my family, I noticed right away that the Cotos walk the same. We have a distinctive duck waddle that is easy to spot when we are together. The more time I spend with my bother, sisters and father, the more of these traits I have noticed.

Since most of the Escobars are still in El Salvador, I haven’t had a chance to get to know them as well. During this trip I really got to see what the other side of the family was like.

One night after going out to eat Pupusas, a typical Salvadoran dish, we stopped by my Aunt Haydee’s house. As she was talking, I noticed right away that my brother Ernesto and she make very similar facial movements. I chuckled a little and hoped she didn’t notice. I could just picture Ernesto making the same face.

I looked over to my aunt Tita on the couch and there she was, sitting just as I would. Back to a corner, one arm stretched resting on the sofa back, the other in the air supporting her head. Up until that point I always thought my mannerisms came exclusively from my father’s side. It was nice to see one from my mother.

I’ve often wondered what else I got from my mother. Looking so much like my father, I thought a lot of my personality might have come from her. Watching the family interact, I got to see their characteristics. My Aunt Tita and her daughters are warm, fun loving, and silly. My Aunt Dalilla and her sons are more quiet, reserved, and pensive. What a wide range of personalities! I definitely see these same traits in myself. It appears my hunch was correct, I am very much an Escobar.

That weekend was my cousin’s wedding. It was one of the reasons that I decided to go back to El Salvador. In attendance were all but one of my aunts and cousins I had not seen in 12 years. Some of them resembled my sister and her daughter. Others reminded me of my late grandmother. My cousin Cesar bares a striking resemblance to Ernesto. He was there with his wife, daughter, and newborn son. Again I’m reminded of the life I might have had. We danced and laughed the whole night.

Besides figuring out which family members looked alike, I also learned more about our family history. I learned that my grandfather, Hector Escobar, worked in construction and even helped build the Panama Canal. It’s very cool to think that our family had a small part to play in its creation.

Getting to know the Escobars was a lot of fun. I got to see another side of my family and myself.

What Obama’s Victory Meant to Me

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Last night the world watched as Barack Obama was elected the 44th president of the United States, and its first black president. For me it was a very emotional and special moment. I watched as a man who has inspired me, who I identify with and who I voted for was lifted into one of the most important positions in the country. What blew me away about this moment was the beauty of seeing all these people come together, united as one, to celebrate a man who gave them hope.

Being Hispanic and growing up in a white household, the issue of race was not important, but it was always there. Throughout my life I have been labeled as “Mexican” because of my skin or “White” because of where I grew up. The truth is I am neither and I am both at the same time. I am Latino, white, black, Asian, German, Jewish as well as a host of other races and cultures which is a reflection of the people I call friends and family. In Obama I see myself. Someone caught between racial identities but at the same time represents the very best parts of what it means to be American.

What struck me the most about last night was all the faces of the people in crowd. White, Black, Latino, young and old all came together to celebrate this historic moment. You could see the hope in their eyes and the admiration they had for our new president. People like Jesse Jackson and Oprah Winfrey who are leaders in their own right last night were humbled to tears. Last night they were not famous celebrities, they were just one of the crowd.

This is where history is made. These are the moments we learned about in school. The moments that Obama himself talked about in his speech. Moments like when women got the right to vote or when Martin Luther King gave his “I have a dream” speech. This must have been what it was like to be inspired by JFK. To be a part of it, to experience it for oneself is truly remarkable.

I feel I have to say congratulations to John McCain for putting up a real fight. While I don’t agree with his politics, his devotion to America is unquestionable. His concession speech was classy, well spoken and sincere. Where was that John McCain during the campaign? Where was the John McCain from SNL? Last night he too rose above his parties politics and acknowledged the significance the moment with honor and respect.

To me this victory meant the realization of MLK’s dream and the dream of millions of Americans who gave everything to make this world a better place. It represents the American dream and the ideal that anything is possible if we work hard. Last night wasn’t about black or white, Republican or Democrat. It was about people coming together. People celebrating the possibility of change and the power of hope. It is a moment that represents the very best of America and a moment that I will not soon forget. Today I am proud to say I am an American.

Congratulations Barack Obama, our 44Th president of the United States of America.

My Birthdays – Nelson/Roberto

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Yesterday was a friend of mines birthday. We went out to eat for 3 hours and had lots of fun. I love getting together like this for birthdays and my birthday. However this wasn’t always the case. Growing up I never knew my real birthday and it always bugged me that everyone else knew there’s. Some people even knew the exact time of birth. I had no idea. I used to look at calendar and feel like it was blank.

I did have a birthday that my adoptive parents gave me when I was adopted. Growing up this is what we celebrated but it always felt so …hollow and fake. Even thought we had cake and everything it never felt like it was mine. Don’t get me wrong I still enjoyed my birthdays and of course loved the presents…who doesn’t?

Looking back on it now I think those feeling of emptiness were really part of something bigger. Your birthday while not being terribly important to the in larger scheme of life is an important part of your identity. Its something so simple that people take for gran it. Whenever someone asked how old I was I would say something like “I’m 15…I think” It was that little bit of uncertainty that bothered me so much. I could be 15 or 14 or 16. I never knew.

Now that I know when my birthday is, I developed a sense of pride when I tell people. After 16 years of uncertainty it feels so good to be able to look someone in the eye and say I was born on may 22, 1981 at 2pm in San Salvador. I think that why I make such a big deal of it now and the fact that I have two birthdays. I’ll joke with friends and say “today is my second birthday what did you get me?” Of course they always come back with “you only get one” Hey it doesn’t hurt to try.