Wednesday 8 April 2015

Livin´ La Vida Loca or Don´t Get Mad, Get Rich.

Got me looking, so crazy, my baby
I'm not myself, lately I'm foolish, I don't do this,
I've been playing myself, baby I don't care
'Cuz your love's got the best of me,
And baby you're making a fool of me,
You got me sprung and I don't care who sees,
'Cuz baby you got me, you got me, so crazy baby.

Got me looking so crazy right now, your love´s
Got me looking so crazy right now (in love)
Got me looking so crazy right now, your touch
Got me looking so crazy right now (your touch)

“Crazy In Love" Beyoncé


The billionaire Beyoncé could afford to have let her guard down I suppose (though perhaps not, only time will tell). But for some of us, constant vigilance is essential. Acquiesce just once to the title of crazy or loca and it´s a slippery slope baby.

I guess lyrics like “your love´s got me looking like a mature human being in an equal partnership” just aren’t catchy.  But I will tell you what is: the “loca” habit. It is like neglecting a small toe fungus and ending up with chronic athlete´s foot.

Since I have been living in Latin America I have been tirelessly fighting gender stereotypes on my children´s behalf. It is no longer acceptable in my house to tell my son to “stop crying like a girl” every time he is upset. He is now allowed to watch and discourse upon “My Little Pony” without attracting the derision of his father. When he won a pink bottle of  perfume at a tombola stall I eventually managed to convince my house helper that yes, it was his and belonged in his, not his sister´s room and that yes, he was allowed to spray it on himself if he so wished. (This was traumatically received, “but Señora, it will make him gay!).

But it seems that I have neglected things on my own behalf. I admit that I have always embraced the word “crazy”. As a member of the Solomon Clan it would be delusional not to do so. Crazy was non-conformist; crazy was adventurous; crazy was interesting, independent, intriguing. But “loca”…

As Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodriguez, founder of group Latina Rebels, Chonga Mujerista says here about tattooing the word “loca” across her knuckles:

"I got the tattoo as social commentary. In my culture, I feel as though women are dismissed a lot with this one-liner: 'loca.' As Gloria Anzaldúa says, there are only three directions a lot of us can go: 'to the church as a nun, to the streets as a prostitute or to the home as a mother.' As someone who is unwed, childless and in academia, I am too unattached and too fresa. And since there is no present male-body to validate me, I am often just called 'loca.' So I have chosen to reclaim that word, because if being loca means that I love myself, think critically and value my future outside of a hetero-monogamous union — then loca I will remain."

But, as a wed, child possessing and professional woman, I have discovered that “loca” is not just a dismissal, it is a weapon. Disagreement with the husband? “Ahh,” he says as he waves a hand and turns away, “estas loca”. Trying to engage in a rational discussion about different views of child raising, household budgeting, whose responsibility it is to go to school meetings, or why I am “being rude” to the delivery man who has kept me waiting for two days with no explanation or excuse? “Tcha, (as he walks out the door to go play football) estas loca”.

And worse, much worse, is the casual turning to my children and saying, “tu mama es loca”. Final. Fucking. Straw.

Of course, it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. That is why it is a WMD as sinister as any nuclear bomb. The catch 22 of gender relations. Because if you react to being called crazy you get called guess what? Crazy. “Stop calling me that!” gets an infuriatingly raised eyebrow and a smug shrug which screams “see what I mean? Loca.” The more you hear it, the crazier you act, and the crazier you act the more easily you can be dismissed.

As a fairly volatile individual I tended to fall into the trap time and again. Then I made a conscious effort not to. To ignore it, pretend I didn´t hear so as to not to give it legitimacy. But that was also counter-productive since none of the necessary discussions were ever had and I ended up doing an unfair share of parenting because I couldn´t be bothered to be called crazy, or I confined my rants of frustration to similar-minded folk on Facebook.

None of which is satisfactory. I am allowed to call myself crazy but you are not. But how to make the point without sounding loca? Such an inoffensive word. So often used as a term of endearment. So silly to object to it when there are so many more pressing everyday issues to deal with. Don´t be so hypersensitive. I ask politely in a non-heated moment not to be called that word and am rewarded with a pat on the shoulder and an indulgent “ya, ya, ‘ta bien”. Until the next time.

Eventually I got it. Of course there are more important things to consider that your wife´s objection to a mere word. Work, the economy, utility bills, the cost of living. I agree. So here is part of the cost of living with me. I have instituted a fine system. There is a large poster on the side of our fridge. Every time I get called “loca” he gets fined s/5. And it gets recorded on the fridge. Budget for it or go broke.