Aside from name and major, asking people where they are from is on the list of basic forgettable information that is traded between college students in the awkward institution of introductions. As a Cuban-American from Miami, I have come to expect a particular set of responses once people learn of my heritage. At Amherst, the typical response goes something like, “Cuba is great! I love vacationing there!” or “I want to study abroad there, I hear it is a lot of fun!” When most people at Amherst (and many other places) think of Cuba, they think sandy beaches with crystal clear water, magical universal healthcare, and quality cigars. This is not my heritage.
At first, I couldn’t help but be frustrated. The land of my heritage is more then a favorite vacation spot. Cuba is more. More than rum, more than beaches, and certainly more than Fidel Castro. Of course many will never realize this point, or even that the dollars they spend on their Cuban getaway goes to support a repressive totalitarian dictatorship. Their idea of Cuba is a slap in the face to everything I know. Has the world forgotten the terrible abuses of human life that have taken place in Cuba over the decades? The execution of thousands of civilians, forced labor and “reeducation” camps for homosexuals and Jehovah’s witnesses among others, torture, and biological experimentation on prisoners to list a few.
My grandparents gave up everything to come to the United States so that I could have opportunities that they never had. I frequently wonder why my family had to sacrifice so much, and I get to pursue my dream because of it. I know it is what they want, but there is often deep guilt associated with succeeding because of their sacrifice. My pain is an invisible one. I frequently wonder if it is my job to educate people on the truth behind my heritage, or if I should just stay quiet.
One night, the Amherst College Political Union (non-partisan) was hosting a discussion on the normalization of relations between the United States and Cuba. Many Cuban-American students attended and it was a good discussion. In sharing our stories I came to realize that stories present the best medium of sharing ones struggle. Time and time again I had no idea how to respond to people whom had such a different idea of my heritage compared to what I thought of my own heritage. During that discussion however, I realized that it is not my job to always respond to those who don’t understand my struggle. On campus, all I can do is share my story with others, not for the sake of educating them, but for the sake of coming to understand my identity as a Cuban American.
Many students who come from immigrant families (and even in general) have similar struggles in reconciling their heritage and identity with the perceptions and expectations of their peers. Yet this is an issue that does not receive a lot of attention because it is deep, personal, and often uncomfortable. I think Amherst College would stand to gain from encouraging more students to share their stories, stories that would bring to light their often invisible struggles.
