I was confronted today with a misunderstanding that I didn’t know
how to correct. Laura’s mother called to ask if Santa, the
woman who helps us with our house and kids, could leave work early
and help her with something. She went into this long-ass explanation
of which I could not make heads or tails. “Yes, sure, it’s
fine with me,” I said. “No problem, I’ll tell Santa.”
When I went out, I chuckled with Santa that Mami Nellie needed her
to run some sort of errand. I asked her if she had already explained
it to her, and if she understood. Sure, she said. I chuckled, I
have no idea what she wanted, but the details weren’t important, I
said, she could leave early to help Mami Nellie.
But I made a crucial mistake, and I could sense it immediately. I
said, “No me importa.”
Literally, it’s not important to me, or in my mind expressing that
the details weren’t necessary or important. Mami Nellie needed her
and that was good enough for me. The problem in Spanish, is that for
some reason, that direct “No me importa.”
Seems to take on this formal tone in some grand manner as if I was a
king on high and I were to say, “I give little import to the
suffering of you worthless peasants. No me
importa.” Right after it came out of my mouth, Santa’s
tone changed, and I knew why.
“Ah, if my worthless life isn’t of any import to you, then
fine…” That’s not what she said, but that was the tone, that
I got back.
“But, Santa, you misunderstood. I wasn’t saying…”
The words were right, just that they weren’t. Arrggghhh, how do I
fix this? “Santa, are you offended. I didn’t mean, I
misspoke.” And she said, no, that it was fine, no problem, and
cast her eyes down, as is done on this island. Conflict, discomfort?
Just redirect, route around, don’t meet it, don’t acknowledge it.
All happens here in what is called an indirecta,
an indirect way of dealing with discomfort. It is unspoken, but for
those of the same culture, clearly understood.
I got it, all right, I just couldn’t figure out how to fix it.
So, I fired up my indirecta powers in
Laura and explained the exchange to her. I’m going to make this
culture’s tricks work for me. If Santa couldn’t bear to face me
directly because of my offense, I must work an indirect path through
someone else. Laura is the perfect vehicle. She can explain where
it went wrong, why being an ethnic American makes these things all
the more confusing. My Spanish is good enough, my accent neutral
enough that most people would assume a much higher level of cultural
comfort than prudence should dictate.
You see, Puerto Rico is extremely mono-cultural, that is, there is
a large degree of cultural homogeneity. Everyone is in the club and
knows the secret handshake without having to ask nor assume anyone
doesn’t know it. There are rules, etiquette, modes of behavior that
are assumed universally.
However, if you are American, if you speak English – they can deal
with that, no problem. There’s an abstraction, you are clearly not
from here. You are an outsider. There are different rules. Puerto
Ricans get that, and adjust accordingly. It’s not so tough when
faced with an obvious gringo right off the boat.
My reality on the other hand, is quite different. I deal with
everyone in Spanish, fluent Spanish, comfortable Spanish. The people
with whom I deal in this mode, do not put on their “dealing
with gringo hat” and as such will see me through their
culture’s eyes rather than as a foreigner. They attribute to me a
cultural comfort much greater than reality.
The problem is, I’m still an ethnic American. My attitudes, my
modes of thought, my manner are still American. I am direct. I
don’t beat around the bush. I don’t shy away from argument. The
indirecta is uncomfortable to me, as I find
it deceptive, disingenuous. I don’t roll with punches as easily. I
want to punch back. I get angry more easily. To a Puerto Rican, it
can become jarring. Excited speech can quickly be taken as angry
speech. Try to address the point of offense to clear it up? Hah,
you may as well try to dig a hole in water. They will quickly deny
they are offended, not wanting to admit weakness. You press them to
accept your humblest apologies for your poor words. They shrug it
off, deny offense, give a quick smile, and stay offended for life.
They will hang on to their offended demeanor like a life preserver
and will not give it up… ever.
Misunderstandings occur not because I’m American, but because I
seem like a Puerto Rican. It doesn’t happen often, but I can tell
immediately when it does, like a slow motion train wreck about which
I can do nothing.
Luckily, I have Laura to smooth things over, to explain away my
cultural faux pas as I go on about my bumbling ways, like a bull in a
china shop.