This essay is a personal reflection centered around the phrase “calladita te ves más bonita” (you look prettier with your mouth shut), an expression commonly utilized by Latinx people that reflects the generational and societal imposition of silence upon Latinx women, particularly when discussing issues of political opinion, racism, sexism, etc.
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“Andrea, calladita te ves más bonita.”
I was 14 years old the first time my grandmother, Pilla, said the all-too-common phrase to me. We were sitting at our dining table, having Japanese take-out. After an hour of sitting in silence, I had finally plucked up enough courage to challenge my uncle during his rant about why he thought being a physician was not a compatible job for a woman. Before I could finish a sentence, Pilla intervened with that phrase. It means “Andrea, you look prettier when you keep your mouth shut.” Since that day, my grandmother’s voice keeps finding its way into my head.
I meet my college freshman roommate. She confesses that she was scared about living with a “Spanish girl” because “the only way [my] family could afford Georgetown is if they’re in the cartel or something.”
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
A friend enters my dorm room and tells me there’s a “shortage” of Latina doctors so I “might have a shot of getting into medical school.”
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
An interviewer at an Ivy League medical school says that I am “surprisingly eloquent” and compliments my “exotic look.”
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
A classmate parades around the medical school in a Che Guevara shirt and scowls when I ask him if he knows who that is.
……..Calladita te ves más bonita
A classmate tells me she’s glad spots in medical school are taken from “people like [her]” to be given to Black students and “Latinx people like [me].”
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
I ask my attending why there is a different GFR calculation for Black patients. He shrugs and says “that’s just how it is.”
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
An intern scoffs before entering a Spanish-speaking patient’s room, and says she “won’t bother” to call a translator. She auscultates the patient’s chest and presses on her incision site. She starts to walk out of the room, the patient still speaking. I stop my resident by the doorway and tell her that the patient said she didn’t know how to use her PCA pump and could barely move. The resident responds “Ugh of course she doesn’t. You speak Spanish right? Go explain, I don’t have time.”
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
A patient asks me “where I am at with my English” then asks me: “are you just going to ask me dumb questions, little girl? Where’s the real doctor?” I felt my lip quiver and my hand tremble but…
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
It is the third hour of morning rounds. I quickly check my phone for updates about my abuela in Venezuela. She had fallen down her staircase and fractured both her wrists that morning. She needed surgery, but the hospitals in Caracas don’t have reliable electricity, anesthesia, or pain medication. My attending reprimands me for being distracted.
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
I am home in Miami, FL during the pandemic. My mom scrolls through Instagram next to me and sees pictures of Jesus Amoroso and friends (all children of corrupt, wealthy, Venezuelan politicians) partying in Los Roques. She asks me “hija, what’s going to happen if they bring COVID to Venezuela?” This was only rhetorical of course; she knows the answer. Our country of 30 million has 84 ICU beds— Venezuelans can’t even get food, they certainly won’t get ventilators.1
I return to Philadelphia, a city that has made me come to terms with the fact that even in la tierra de oportunidades, Latinos still can’t get their hands on medical care. My family organizes a group call to try talking me out of delivering groceries to patients of Puentes de Salud, a Latinx-focused health clinic. I explain how COVID and the economic impact of quarantine is disproportionately affecting both the Latinx and the Black community. I hear: “We’re Latinos too but we don’t ask for handouts. We didn’t come to America for you to be a glorified Postmates driver.” I hang up and deliver the groceries anyway — what they don’t know won’t hurt them.
……..Calladita te ves más bonita.
Another Black person is murdered. Protests ensue. Members of the National Guard stay in the hotel next door to my apartment building. Before I leave my apartment, I check: keys, phone, mask, US passport, two pieces of mail.
The protests bring back images of young anti-government protesters dead in the street of Caracas. I remember the phone calls my mom received when a couple of her childhood friends were kidnapped. My mind wanders to Venezuela, but seeing my friends mourn shakes me back into the reality in front of me. I hear people I love express how they fear for their safety and that of their family members. I hear Black peers say that “the silence is deafening.” I try to consolidate this with my grandmother’s words.
“How can my silence inflict pain if calladita me veo más bonita?”
I let the words that had been passed down from generations of mothers and grandmothers dictate my behavior for ten years. I had let the desire to be bonita keep me from advocating for myself, my patients, and my friends. This is something I will probably have to spend ten more years unlearning, but what I know already is that el racismo is not bonito, el prejuicio is not bonito, and la ignorancia is not bonita.
Prefiero ser ruidosa y poderosa que quedarme calladita y bonita.
References:
1. Davis, E., 2020. Experts: Venezuela Is ‘Worst Case Scenario’ For Coronavirus. [online] U.S. News & World Report. Available at: <https://www.usnews.com/news/best countries/articles/2020-03-26/experts-venezuela-is-worst-case-scenario-for-coronavirus spread> [Accessed 22 June 2020].
Andrea Yeguez is an MS4 at the Perelman School of Medicine.
Image by author.
