“Mi’jita,What for?” Exploring Bicultural Identity of Latina/Chicana Faculty and Implications for Supporting Latinx Students in Social Work

Abstract

Latinx faculty have an opportunity to influence a growing population of incoming Latinx students. As Chicana/Latina social work faculty, we seek to raise consciousness about our biculturalism and demonstrate how it could play a role in educating students. To that end, we highlight issues related to language. The meaning of language is complex, manifesting personally and politically. It is unclear how the relationship between identity and language intersect for individuals working in higher education. Thus, we draw on a theoretical model of bicultural competence and testimonios or first-person narratives to explore these issues in-depth, extrapolate meaning from experience, and report implications for research, teaching, and practice.

Latinx ¹ faculty have an opportunity to directly impact a growing population of incoming Latinx students who are making substantial strides with respect to college enrollment (Krogstad, 2016). Although underrepresented, more Latinx students are pursuing postsecondary education than ever before; 35% of Latinx people aged 18–24 were enrolled in a 2- or 4-year college in 2014 (American Association of Hispanics in Higher Education, 2017). At our Southwestern University, “Hispanic/Latino” students represent over 20% of our undergraduate student body (up from 13.8% in 2006; Arizona State University, 2016); however, “Hispanic/Latino” tenured/tenure-track faculty only represent 8% of the total faculty and this rate has not changed since 2006 (Arizona State University, 2016). This is a serious concern, as a greater number of Latinx faculty on college campuses are associated with academic success among Latinx college students (Hagedorn, Chi, Cepeda, & McLain, 2007).

When Latinx faculty are represented on college campuses, students have access to potential role models, which increases their sense of belonging and social integration in the college setting (Hagedorn et al., 2007). Since Latinx faculty are in positions of power on campus, they often serve as role models, which not only motivates Latinx students to remain in school and achieve academically but also provides them with a natural sounding board for problems they may face (Fiske, 1988; Verdugo, 1995). Latinx faculty not only share the same culture as Latinx students but also serve as interpreters. Latinas, in particular, are most successful when they develop safe spaces through which students can observe relationships among professional Latinas (Barajas & Pierce, 2001). They learn how educational systems function and how decisions are made (Haro, 2004). Within these relationships and spaces, there may be a sense of solidarity and transformation of the oppressive experiences that provides protection from the microaggressions and other forms of discrimination that Latinx students often experience in higher education; ultimately, they can overcome serious barriers that tend to inhibit their adjustment and academic performance (Haro, 2004; S. Santos & Reigadas, 2002). Finally, Latinx faculty provide emotional support, encouragement, and motivation and uniquely engage Latinx students in the classroom, leading to improvements in higher education retention and degree completion rates (Ponjuan, 2013).

Honoring this growing student population and underrepresented faculty population, the main purpose of this article is to delineate how bicultural identity formation informs our professional development and our work with students as Latina and Chicana faculty who do not speak Spanish. We describe negative and positive experiences connected to our language loss and cultural identity. Through sharing our experiences, we offer a transformative space to positively impact students who are exploring their identities during emerging adulthood in college. As we examine our own biculturalism, we are better equipped to nurture students who also navigate two worlds.

It is unclear how the relationship between identity and language intersect for individuals working in higher education. Ultimately, the meaning of language is complex, manifesting personally and politically. There is a dearth of research related to language specific to Latinx faculty and students. Thus, we draw on a theoretical model of bicultural competence and testimonios or first-person narratives that insert Chicana/Latina voices and give agency to stories (Calderón, Delgado Bernal, Pérez Huber, Malagón, & Nelly Vélez, 2012) as a starting point to explore these issues in-depth and extrapolate meaning from experience.

Considering Spanish Language

Research with Latinx individuals indicates that it is not necessary for a person to speak Spanish to be considered Latinx; while 95% of Latinx people say speaking Spanish is important, most (71%) Latinx people believe that it is not a necessary part of the identity (Lopez, 2016). Moreover, recent reports suggest that at the same time English proficiency is growing among Latinx people, the numbers of Latinx people speaking Spanish at home has declined with about a quarter of adults being English-dominant, a third Spanish-dominant, and the remainder, bilingual (Krogstad, Stepler, & Lopez, 2015).

In the United States, Spanish is a primary indicator of the Latinx identity. Davis and Moore (2014) refer to the phenomenon of racialization of Spanish. Racialization in this context refers to a process in which a language is assimilated as part of a racial identity; the Spanish language is often considered a component of identity fundamental to the human experience for Latinx people in the United States (Davis & Moore, 2014). Lived experiences are shared with others through language (Benveniste & McKeon, 1965). Spanish invokes the identity and experience of Latinx people, distinctly connecting them to one another. Essentially, Davis and Moore (2014) suggest that racialization of the Spanish language led to a priority for Latinx people to speak “English only” to conform to the dominant English-speaking culture, otherwise known as linguistic assimilation. However, Davis and Moore contend that linguistic assimilation is an attack on the use of Spanish as a form of ethnic erasure, limits progress for Latinx people, and is exclusionary in the context of whites tacitly signifying Latinx people as racial others (irrespective of their language proficiency in Spanish, English, or both; Davis and Moore, 2014, p. 694).

Language (or lack thereof) plays a critical role in identity and, as Davis and Moore (2014) suggest, the Spanish language has become a “tool in the political economy of race” (p. 694). Cobas and Feagin (2008) argue Latinx people experience language oppression through various ways. These include, “silencing” or demanding Latinx people speak English, through language-suspicion and fears of Latinx people (whereby whites feel excluded and believe Latinx people need to be watched), doubting the English-speaking ability of Latinx people, mocking accents, and finally by ignoring Spanish speakers. Further, Sisneros (2002) suggests that the loss of the Spanish language by Latinx people is a form of cultural genocide or the phenomenon wherein “ideologies, structures, and practices…are used to legitimate, effectuate, and reproduce an unequal division of power and resources” (Skutnabb-Kangas, Phillipson, Rannut, & Ebrary, 1995, p. 105). The specific form of cultural genocide that pertains to language is linguicide. Sisneros (2002) highlights the separation from one’s group that Latinx people experience through linguicide. The silencing of the Spanish by the dominant culture brings with it the silencing of the culture itself, thus disconnecting Latinx people from their cultural identity.

We understand language is an important marker of Latinx culture and have asked ourselves, “are we not Latina if we don’t have the Spanish language?” and “how effective can we be as educators in academia without the Spanish language?” These are questions with which we continue to grapple. As practitioners, educators, and researchers, our inability to speak Spanish has led to lost opportunities to work with Spanish-speaking communities investing in creative methods and collaborations to work with these communities. Yet our colleagues who do not identify as Latinx but speak Spanish have entrée by way of language. This may contribute to feelings of loss and shame and, more importantly, could influence work with students and within communities.

As we continually examine and celebrate the unique aspects of our culture, we begin to understand that the loss of our Spanish language occurred by way of forced assimilation. This understanding allows us to begin to relinquish feelings of shame and embarrassment by placing the blame on the perpetrators from the dominant culture and not on ourselves. When we work with students who share this similar experience, we can help them recognize this injustice and support them through the process of understanding the loss of language is a form of cultural genocide. We also acknowledge that students who are Spanish dominant encounter negative experiences of cultural erasure. Through our work, we hope to encourage students to embrace their Spanish language as a cultural strength, once they can draw on in their work on predominantly white campuses.

Navigating Two or More Cultures

Exploring issues related to identity in the current context is critical because we are better able to translate our experience into practice as educators; and as educators, we are better prepared to assist students who are navigating two or more cultures. To understand how a person integrates and navigates multiple cultural heritages (or bi/multiculturalism), we explore our bicultural experiences and particularly the processes we utilize to negotiate multiple cultural locations in academia (West, Zhang, Yampolsky, & Sasaki, 2017). We acknowledge that biculturalism is a complex process and a product of varying cultural and contextual forces that can guide an individual toward some cultural options and away from others (Swartz & Unger, 2010). Like any social identity, we emphasize the heterogeneity of the bicultural experience, even among those who share the same or similar cultural heritages (see Guo, Suarez-Morales, Schwartz, Szapocznik, & Santiago Rivera, 2012).

As bicultural Latinx faculty, compared with one another, we presume to have both similar and unique experiences of navigating two or more cultures in academia. Related to limited literature in the area, our experience mirrors findings. For instance, in their study of native women living in a bicultural world, Barrios and Egan (2002) found native women live as members of a minority group within a dominant culture, feel alienation otherness, and struggle with competing cultural values. However, Suarez, Fowers, Garwood, and Szapocznik’s (1997) research suggested that bicultural skills may make it easier for a Latinx individual to feel more supported.

Considering the complexities and nuances of biculturalism, we attempt to center our exploration and subsequent discussion on bilingualism (or rather, lack thereof), which some presume to be the foundation on which a Latinx bicultural identity in the United States is built (see Davis & Moore, 2014). Research in the area has indicated a relationship between low self-esteem and nonbilingualism among Latinx people (Sanchez, Chavez, Good, &Wilton, 2012). This phenomenon would clearly affect educators in a professional space, especially when faculty are often presumed to be available mentors for students of color. Sanchez and colleagues studied the perceived acceptance from one’s in-group and collective self-esteem among Latinx people as a function of Spanish proficiency. Reporting on data from two separate studies (n = 53 and 40), Sanchez and colleagues suggested that individuals with an inability to speak Spanish experience lower self-esteem and less connectedness to other Latinx people. While scant literature reports on the phenomenon of the nonbilingual professional, the topic has been broached in varied blog/narrative spaces (see A. Davis, 2017; Rivas, 2014; Solis, 2016). Because scholarly literature in this domain is limited, we draw on narratives in which individuals write about their bicultural experiences and connect their nonbilingualism to their families of origin, embarrassment in the workplace, and a general feeling of not being “Latino enough” (Brammer, 2016, n.p.). Narratives provide further evidence of the phenomenon we describe herein as they are related to biculturalism, loss of language, and the associated consequences.

In virtual blog spaces, narratives indicate that Latinx people who do not speak Spanish may feel some embarrassment as a result; moreover, reasons for not speaking Spanish varies by generation (see Solis, 2016). In the workplace, there may be a sense of being judged for not speaking Spanish, especially when coworkers are Latin (see Solis, 2016). In Solis’s (2016) piece, one participant writes, “They think I am whitewashed but I ignore it…Just because I do not speak Spanish, it does not mean that I do not embrace the culture” (n.p.). Embarrassed and separated from one’s culture, bloggers write feeling “not Latino enough,” and allowing feelings of insecurity to define the self (Brammer, 2016, n.p.). In sum, Latinx people who do not speak Spanish generally feel a part of the diaspora (Brammer, 2016). Nonetheless, there is a question of authenticity. However, knowing Spanish may not make one feel “more Latino” because the wall between one’s self and their culture may be of their own design (Brammer, 2016).

Theory

Due to the marginalization of Latinx faculty in the academy, we intentionally utilized an empowerment-based theoretical model to juxtapose the predominant deficit narrative that typecast Chicana/Latinas as other. The model of bicultural competence by LaFromboise, Coleman, and Gerton (1993) is one of the only strength-based models to emerge from the growing evidence that individuals can and do live successfully within two or more different cultures (Kerwin, Ponterrotto, Jackson, & Harris, 1993; Oetting & Beauvais, 1990). This model is influenced by the research of Oetting and Beauvais (1990) and their discovery that the identity of multicultural youth (in this case, American Indian, Anglo American, and Mexican American youth) was not weakened, but as strong as those youth who identified with only a single culture. An important tenet of the model is that it is inherently possible for individuals to adopt features of the majority culture, while simultaneously maintaining behaviors, values, and feelings associated with their own ethnic minority culture (Costigan & Su, 2004).

The model of bicultural competence examines more closely the multifaceted processes an individual employs to effectively manage living within two cultures (Benet-Martínez & Haritatos, 2005). Specifically, the model emphasizes how psychological well-being may be encompassed in a bi/multicultural person’s ability to develop and maintain six dimensions of competence, including (1) knowledge of cultural beliefs and values, including the history, institutions, rituals, and everyday practices of a given culture; (2) positive attitudes toward both majority and minority groups; (3) bicultural efficacy, or the belief that one can live effectively within two groups without compromising one’s sense of cultural identity; (4) communication ability and effectiveness in communicating one’s ideas and feelings to members of a given culture both verbally and nonverbally; (5) role repertoire and the range of cultural or situational-appropriate behavior or roles an individual has developed; and finally, (6) one’s sense of groundedness in stable social networks within both majority and minority cultures (LaFromboise, Coleman, & Gerton, 1993). According to the model, the more familiar one is with their multiple cultures (i.e., the more knowledge, positive attitudes, and efficacy one possesses within both cultures), the greater their bicultural competence and well-being.

The model is rooted in ecological systems theory and emphasizes the reciprocal relationship between an individual and their multiple cultural environments (minority and majority culture; LaFromboise et al., 1993). Therefore, individuals possess different assemblages of biculturalism and can acquire competence in some areas, while simultaneously falling short in others (Dennis, Fonseca, Gutierrez, Shen, & Salazar, 2016). For instance, later generation Latinx families are less likely to pass on the Spanish language to their children and to compensate for this loss, families transmit more palpable messages of ethnic loyalty and identification (Padilla, 2006). Also, considering bicultural competence is an individual versus a group process, each person acquires biculturalism at their own rate (LaFromboise et al., 1993). Considering that there is “no one way to be bicultural” (Phinney & Devich-Navarro, 1997, p. 19), this exploratory study examined how three nonbilingual Chicana/Latina social work professors balance the challenges of acquiring and maintaining bicultural competence in a predominately white and male academic institution. Specifically, our testimonios reflect how we (in spite of our nonbilingualism) uniquely acquired and deployed bicultural competence in our lives and professorial positions in one School of Social Work.

Testimonio as Methodology

We employed testimonio as a methodological approach (Latina Feminist Group, 2001) to provide a space to reflect on the development of our bicultural identity mediated by race, class, and gender (Pérez Huber & Cueva, 2012). Testimonio is a means through which we contribute to a movement, guided by racial and social justice, which “carves a space within academia to recognize sources of knowledge often ignored and delegitimized” (Pérez Huber, 2009, p. 640). Moreover, testimonio is a tool for reclaiming and understanding the complexities of our Chicana and Latina identities (Latina Feminist Group, 2001). Following the suggestions articulated by Pérez Huber (2009), we utilize our testimonios to conduct inquiry counter to tradition, which will lead to a more comprehensive understanding of women of color in educational institutions. Said another way, our testimonies (arguably, specific and nuanced) reflect the challenge, persistence, success, and rewards of women of color more broadly. Moreover, we utilize our testimonies as a foundation on which we build implications for our work with Latinx students. Combining varied definitions of testimonio, Pérez Huber (2009) offers the following definition: Testimonio is “a verbal journey of a witness who speaks to reveal the racial, classed, gendered, and nativist injustices they have suffered as a means of healing, empowerment, and advocacy for a more humane present and future” (p. 644).

Our testimonios align with Moraga and Anazldúa’s (2015) methodology that used their own experiences to honor the events in their lives that helped them to construct their own lens as they experienced the world. We draw from our three distinct testimonios that include our bicultural and intersectional experiences. We channel these reflections into action by incorporating them into teaching methods as well as interactions with marginalized students. The unique knowledge development and actions employed demonstrate the complexity and necessity of reflective practice in social work education. Ultimately, this personal and arguably vulnerable process is one which we believe best aligns our unique experiences with social justice–related issues present within higher education and particularly social work.

Utilizing testimonio, we began our individual inquiry, wherein we articulated our own histories and narratives through self-reflection. Together we had an honest dialogue about our identity formation, including our biculturalism and loss of the Spanish language. During this dialogue, we began an iterative development of the questions for self-inquiry on issues related to identity, language, and biculturalism rooted in our lived experiences as women of color who are building careers in the academy. Together we developed the following questions: (1) How is your identity shaped as a Latina/Chicana who does not speak Spanish? (2) What is your personal experience of biculturalism as an academic social worker? and (3) How do your experiences inform your practice as an educator? As we began to reflect on the questions, we each provided individual responses to create the composition of our individual testimonios. Next, we read and examined each other’s testimonios and suggested we each refine our testimonios to ensure our responses were relevant to the questions we posed. Finally, we met to discuss the similarities and differences, being careful to honor our unique and collective experiences. From these final testimonios, we identified the emerging themes. The testimonios include distinct, bicultural, and intersectional experiences. We channel these reflections into action by incorporating them into teaching methods as well as interactions with marginalized students.

Testimonio 1

How Is Your Identity Shaped as a Latina/Chicana Who Does Not Speak Spanish?

The complex elements that contributed to my identity as a Latina were shaped several generations before I was born. My parents are fourth-generation (paternal) and zero-generation (maternal) Chicanos. My father’s parents spoke Spanish; however, they intentionally chose not to teach their children the language as they did not want them to endure the harsh treatment they received for speaking Spanish. My mother’s first language was Spanish and when she started elementary school, they were required to speak English. Therefore, Spanish was only spoken at home. My mother often talked about the punishment she received if she was caught speaking Spanish in school. Her parents were adamant about her only speaking Spanish at home, as this was one way to ensure her safety and to demonstrate to others how “American” they were. During this era, speaking Spanish came with very negative connotations that included not being smart, being poor, and uneducated. These external messages were conveyed to my parents at a very young age and later were made clear to me.

I grew up in a predominately low-income Latino neighborhood in Denver, CO, in the 1980s. It was very common to hear Latina/os only speaking English and sometimes “Spanglish,” a mixture of English and Spanish. It was rare to hear Spanish, as many of the residents identified as Chicana/o, usually third-plus generation Mexican Americans whose children did not speak Spanish. Many of the families assimilated to U.S. culture and as a result lost the Spanish language. Chicana/o was a common self-identification as Denver was one of the birthplaces of the Chicano Movement, which fought for equality and access to quality and higher education programs (Olken, 2005). It was here where my identity continued to be shaped.

Throughout elementary, middle, and high school, many of my friends identified as Chicana/o and were not bilingual. There was a clear division among the Spanish and English language speakers. We carried a sense of superiority and pretended we were closer to whiteness because we did not speak Spanish. The more I aligned with this narrative, the more I began to think that I was somehow more “American,” and moving into “honorary whiteness” (Bonilla-Silva, 2004), an identity that some light-skinned Latina/os assume based on their level of education and income. I add the loss of language to this identity, as an English speaker who had more advantages in school, as I could assimilate into the mainstream student body.

As I continued along the education pipeline, there were fewer Latina/o students. During my senior year in high school and my first year in college, I found myself questioning what was my identity and how did my gender influence my experience? Thankfully, I found Chicana/o Studies and Movimiento Estudiantil Chicanx de Aztlán, a student organization that promotes higher education, cultura, and historia. It was in these safe spaces where I felt a connection to others who looked like me and shared similar experiences. It was here where I found strong, intelligent Chicanas in higher education. Thus, my Chicana identity emerged.

What Is Your Personal Experience of Biculturalism as an Academic Social Worker?

My interest in social work came during my last year in college when I had a Latino, male professor encourage me to pursue a master of social work (MSW). For the first time, I left my neighborhood in Denver and traveled across the country to attend a prestigious social work program. It was here where I was again confronted with the questions, “what and who are you?” This was important to understand, as the “use of self” was essential in social work. I grappled with this question throughout my first year in the program. On my first day of internship, the director of the center greeted me very warmly and told me how excited they were to have me because there was only one bilingual therapist. My excitement turned to embarrassment and shame, then anger as we both realized that my MSW program had placed me at this internship under the assumption that I spoke Spanish.

Needless to say, we were both disappointed and this set the negative tone for my first-year placement. This was one of the most challenging yet rewarding experiences as I began my academic career as a social worker. I was very excited to work with families and communities that I understood culturally but struggled to verbally communicate with them. It was frustrating as the white, female bilingual therapist could talk to them but did not understand their culture. As I finished my internship and first year of my program, I realized how critical it was to not only to have female bilingual social workers but social workers who were also bicultural.

How Does Your Experience Inform Your Practice as an Educator?

As a female, assistant professor at a large public institution in the southwest, my identity continues to be shaped through my personal, academic, and professional experiences. These experiences inform the educator I am in the classroom and the researcher I am in the community. It is not only challenging to be a faculty of color in the classroom, but my intersecting female identity adds a complex layer. I find myself spending more time prepping for class, preparing myself to be challenged and questioned by students and held to an unfair standard in course evaluations. In the classroom, I draw on my lived and practice experience to provide examples of concepts and their application. I find most students respond to this and it resonates with Latina/o students who share similar experiences. I find ways to incorporate issues that affect the growing Latina/o population, as social work students are likely to work with Latina/os whether they focus on micro or macro practice. I engage in collective dialogue with students, which helps them understand and learn to work with others outside of their culture.

I have the opportunity to coadvise our Latina/o student organization and teach Latina/o students. Furthermore, I have the privilege to mentor students and help them navigate the cultural context of academia and decode the language of higher education. I am fortunate that I get to teach non-Latina/o students about cultural differences and how to be more culturally responsive to the Latina/o community. This means taking the time to build rapport and learning their role as a facilitator of the process of change, as the clients and communities are their own experts. I also realize how important my role is, as there are so few Latina faculty in social work.

Finally, as a community-based researcher, who studies parent engagement and academic achievement, I currently work with a team of white, primarily male, colleagues studying the impact of a family-based intervention we developed, your family, your neighborhood, in low-income subsidized housing neighborhoods. We serve primarily single, Latina mothers and their children. As the principal investigator, I educate my research team on best practices and serve as a cultural broker in order to be culturally responsive. I believe this is my ethical responsibility.

Testimonio 2

How Is Your Identity Shaped as a Latina/Chicana Who Does Not Speak Spanish?

My identity as a nonbilingual Latina has been shaped by interactions with multiple generations of my Mexican American family, my experience navigating much of my life with a disability, and the social context in which I have found myself living throughout my academic career journey. I am a fifth generation Latina. I have memories of being told the painful stories my great grandparents, grandparents, and parents experienced being Mexican American in the United States. The stories of my ancestors are filled with racialized experiences of being told “English only” along with harsh consequences if Spanish was used. In addition, gendered experiences were plentiful as I grew up witnessing my mother and grandmothers be subjected to traditional expectations for women in the Latinx community. Expectations that they would care for children and be subservient were evident. However, my grandmothers and mother were attuned to their strengths and reframed gender roles, such as “caring for children,” to a more empowering skill of “ability to care for others who need support.” Reframing these expectations, demonstrating their capacity to channel traditional expectations into small businesses (e.g., hair salon and babysitting) or status as a matriarch has been inspiring in times of distress associated with cultural and gendered expectations of me. As I consider the messages of these Latinas in my life, I realize that they practiced the principles of empowerment feminist therapy (Díaz-Lázaro, Verdinelli, & Cohen, 2012), which emphasizes the importance of acknowledging the cultural context in the lived lives of Latinas. Through acknowledging these components, my Latina role models facilitated the broad potential for my career and life trajectories, which were not dependent on my ability to speak Spanish and exceeded traditional expectations for women in the Latinx community.

As an adolescent, I spent many days with my paternal and maternal grandparents due to a disability that forced me into hospital-home schooling for a year and a half in high school and necessitated a year off from work and college while attending a Hispanic Serving Institution in California. My grandparents were my greatest teachers, while my blue-collar working parents maintained their employment. My grandparents filled each day with life-lessons about our culture. They emphasized a strong work ethic, caring for children, learning from life, and they also highlighted important factors I study in my present research. However, when I was very ill as a teenager and the only possible solution was to have brain surgery, my paternal grandparents could not digest the experience. There were no words in Spanish or English that alleviated the stigma of disability they perceived or words that helped them understand why I had to have a surgery. Language was not a priority, life was.

My paternal grandparents stopped speaking to us. My maternal grandparents, however, stepped out of the traditional gender roles they had ascribed to care for and show affection in ways they gave up as a function of the discrimination they experienced in the United States. I saw the vulnerabilities of every family member and learned a great deal about my ancestry during that time. Spanish was not a necessary component to be with one another. The language of family and love transcended Spanish. That experience, filled with physical and emotional pain, provided me insight for my career path. Thus, the intersections of racialized, gendered, and ability status experiences have contributed greatly to my identification as a Latina, my career path, and the methods of my research and teaching. I developed a need to understand the variations in family and cultural reactions to childhood diagnoses and treatment plans. I grew an intense curiosity about Latina/o family reactions to developmental disabilities. Thus, I centered my practice and research on Latina/o families who have children with autism spectrum disorder (ASD). My social class and that of the children I worked with in low-income schools and communities fostered my interest in health/mental health-care disparities. My positionality influenced my approach and experience as a student, researcher, patient, treatment provider, and educator. Despite the passion I have for my chosen area of practice and research, white superiors have told me I am not prepared for this work given my limited Spanish fluency. Individuals who resemble teachers who threatened my father over his Spanish ability and shamed him into disengaging from his educational experience have reminded me about my lack of Spanish skills. Yet, as Davis and Moore (2014) describe, Latina/os are often subsumed into a category of expectations regardless of their generation in the United States or whether or not they speak Spanish. Not speaking Spanish never stopped anyone from the dominant culture from assuming my niece was my daughter when I was 16 or stop the doctors when I was initially diagnosed with Epilepsy from assuming my parents could not understand my diagnosis or manage my care. My limited Spanish fluency did not end the relentless “Where are you really from?” questions from majority students and locals when I attended a Research 1, predominantly white-serving, Midwest school for my PhD.

What Is Your Personal Experience of Biculturalism as an Academic Social Worker?

My work, researching Latina/o families raising children with ASD, has been constrained by the reality that I cannot solely complete all my tasks due to my limited Spanish fluency. In many ways, not being able to “do it all” by speaking Spanish has saved me from burning out. I have to delegate work requiring Spanish fluency to students and collaborators. In a career that is often lonely, delegating and collaborating are valuable skills that keep me connected to others and have enhanced my mentorship capacity with diverse researchers. I have advanced my skills through the practice of cultural humility (Ortega & Faller, 2011) that suggests an open approach to understanding multiculturalism and intersectionality, the recognition that relationships include power differences, as well as the inclusivity of microaggressions (Furlong & Wight, 2011; Ortega & Faller, 2011). I also intertwine intersectionality in my work with Latina/o families. Intersectionality highlights the ways in which constructed identities interact to shape the developing person and their various versions of the self (Crenshaw, 1991) by attending to both the structural consequences of intersecting identities and the time and context contingency of them. Thus, I have a unique role as an insider in my work, yet as intersectionality points out, I do not embody every experience of the Latina/o families I have worked with or researched. I recognize that while I know my individual experience, I continue to be responsible for seeking consultation and expertise from other Latina/os concerning their experiences. For example, when invited to be interviewed by a Latina/o television station regarding a study I have been leading, I offered the opportunity to the promotoras or community health-care workers who deliver the intervention content. The promotoras who are Latina mothers raising children with ASD deserved to be at the forefront of the interview. I supported the promotora who was interviewed by attending the taping, but I recognized my role to encourage her rather than take the spotlight.

How Does Your Experience Inform Your Practice as an Educator?

As an educator, my experience living in multiple environments in which my identity as a Latina has been questioned, I recognize the variation of encounters diverse students have as they navigate their academic careers. I recognize the variance in student identities and acknowledge that it is optimal for educators to consider the changing realities of students and utilize an intersectional approach that develops their strengths of differences. My approach to teaching and student engagement has resulted in positive interactions with students from diverse backgrounds, opportunities to involve them in my research, and unique support for their educational and career aspirations. I believe it is my responsibility to inform and support future scholars who have similar identities; thus, I often sit on panels for incoming undergraduate or graduate students, women of color, federal programs for underrepresented students, and doctoral candidates. I speak openly about the challenges of being a Latina in the academy and the strengths I bring to the academic world. I highlight the reality of raising two young girls and striving for success while becoming comfortable with the imbalance of work and life in an ever changing and highly political social context. The openness I have developed about these topics grew out of my intersectional experiences as a Latina with a disability in academia. As frustrating as it is to be the only one on a panel, I know if I am not there, there is no one.

Testimonio 3

How Is Your Identity Shaped as a Latina/Chicana Who Does Not Speak Spanish?

My mother was the most significant influence in the development of my identity. She helped shape my understanding of what it was to be Latina while at the same time emphasizing the importance of navigating an English-speaking, white, male-dominated world. My mother learned to speak English in her late teens. In her early 20s, she was employed by the government and over the years she worked her way up the ladder. Eventually, she managed dozens of people (mostly men) as the Chief of Logistics on a major air force base. To say that my mother fought for her career is a massive understatement. She believed she was surrounded by racists and misogynists, though she would never have articulated it that way.

One day, when I was in high school, I asked her, “mom, why didn’t you teach me to speak Spanish?” She responded, irritated, “mi’jita, what for?” I wanted an answer because underneath the question was a good deal of resentment. I resented her because—in my teenaged mind—she was the reason I didn’t belong. I didn’t belong with the white kids and I didn’t belong with the brown ones. I was alone except for one close friend whose white family was absolutely nothing like my own. Married at 21 to a Mexican American man, I found I still didn’t really belong.

I wasn’t always an outsider; some saw me as the example insider. In graduate school, I was a token. Tokenism occurs when people of color (in the minority) find themselves working alongside members of the majority group; they become more visible (Niemann, 2003). It’s always strange to find myself speaking for all Latina/os and knowing very little about any one culture outside of my own Mexican American family system. For most of my adult life, especially in professional situations, I’m still the token. Ironically, around people of color—brown like myself—I feel like an intruder. Essentially, tokenism creates psychological discomfort and places [tokens] on constant guard about their words, behaviors, and their very presence (Niemann, 2003, p. 3).

Feelings of resentment or feeling like an outsider were certainly compounded by my gender and sexuality. As an emerging adult, attempts to understand my own identity were clearly shaped by my culture, my family’s language, my relationship with my mother, and my education as a social worker. There is no real way to parse the unique impact of not speaking Spanish given the ways my different roles manifested and intersected, but there is a clear bifurcation of belongingness. In other words, the complication of my existence as a queer Latina who did not fully conform to my family culture and gender norms seemed to clarify my perceptions about those spaces in which I would feel safe. Those spaces were few and far between but when I found them, they were often in a social work classroom or talking with a valued social work educator/ mentor.

What Is Your Personal Experience of Biculturalism as an Academic Social Worker?

As a Latina faculty member, I find myself living in a mostly white world and I understand what is expected of me. I’m fully aware of how to navigate social situations with my mostly white colleagues with relative ease. Sometimes, I am invited to “Latin Convocation” or a variation of the Latina/o faculty caucus, or perhaps I’ll serve on a diversity committee and I find myself launched into imposter syndrome. “Imposter syndrome,” a phenomenon described first by Clance and Imes (1978), is the result of heightened emotional cognitive anxiety related to success, wherein individuals may attribute failure to internal forces and success to external circumstances (Hutchins, 2015). In my case, the “syndrome” results from a lack of cohesion with a group of other successful faculty of color. In these settings, I am hyper aware of my own status in the academy and often find myself comparing my work with others’ work.

While I was on the academic job market, I visited several schools. At one school in the Southwest, my hosts greeted each other in Spanish and it felt like a test. I failed. I understood that in the academy brown people are valuable, but they are really valuable if they can speak Spanish. Time and time again, I find myself part of a system, fellowship, conference, or committee that requires (1) my own acceptance of my Latina identity and (2) that others accept my identity as well. It’s a complicated process made more complicated by my queerness, finally (and thankfully) manifested in my late 20s.

In the current discussion, I/we approach my/our experience from a bicultural lens where identity manifests in different ways as a function of environment. Also, there is clear recognition that I/we stand at intersections. As a queer Latina, I am a little too femme for “queer” and a little too white to be brown. Nonetheless, I/we remain ever cognizant that my/our identity has remained historically excluded from the professoriate (see Pifer, 2011). I am grateful to hold my position and to have a solid understanding of my own identities.

How Does Your Experience Inform Your Practice as an Educator?

As a function of my experience, I value mentorship and I want to be an effective mentor for my students. As a social worker, I understand that students of color—especially those with English as a second language—are faced with myriad institutional challenges. I feel like I can be effective with most students and I find myself trying to connect with students of color. I don’t always know the best approach and I wonder if students sense that I’m trying too hard. I recognize it’s important to remain mindful of the ever-present power differential between students and professors and figure out a way to work with students of color that allows me to remain open to learning, conscientious of my standpoint, and ultimately, not try too hard.

Findings

As Chicana/Latina social work faculty, we raise consciousness about our biculturalism and demonstrate the important role it plays in assisting students who also navigate two cultures. Our primary purpose is to illustrate how identity and language intersects to inform our work in higher education. Through this reflection, we began to understand the factors that influenced our identity formation and how we continue to view and are viewed in academia. Collectively, we identified four main themes, including the loss of language, living on the margins between two worlds, experiences of overt and covert racism, and carrying a cultural burden yet, honor.

Loss of Language

Our parents made intentional and unintentional decisions not to teach us Spanish as a means of protection, as they were punished for speaking Spanish in school. In the first two testimonios, parents experienced harsh consequences for speaking Spanish and viewed not speaking the language as a way to seem more “American.” In Testimonio 3, not speaking Spanish could be viewed as a means to better navigate an English-speaking, presumably racist world. In each testimonio, it is clear that these messages are internalized and may have served as the foundation on which future interactions were built.

It is also apparent in the first two testimonios that not speaking Spanish may have supported our educational assimilation, aiding travel through the educational and professional pipelines. For instance, Testimonio 1 refers to feelings of a false sense of “honorary whiteness” and suggests that greater assimilation may have been more advantageous. Testimonio 2 suggests that not speaking Spanish allows for flexibility in research asserting that “In many ways, not being able to ‘do it all’ by not speaking Spanish has saved me from burn out.” Nonbilingualism, it seems, may not be completely negative.

Living on the Margin and Between Two Worlds

We live on the margins and between two worlds, often experiencing exclusion from Latinx Spanish speakers as well as the dominant culture. In Testimonio 1, we see a story wherein the narrator is assumed to be a Spanish speaker and is granted an opportunity as a bilingual therapist intern. As a result, “embarrassment and shame, then anger” ensues. In Testimonio 2, the narrator reports statements made by superiors related to a lack of preparedness for research to due to limited Spanish fluency. Testimonio 3 includes scenarios wherein she finds herself, as a faculty member, not fitting in “brown” or white spaces and having to prove herself in any case. Clearly, there is a margin on the outside of Latin and majority cultures in which we all have existed.

Experiences of Overt and Covert Racism

Ironically, our nonbilingualism, cultural assimilation, and competent biculturalism have not insulated us from experiencing the racialization of Spanish nor the experiences of overt or covert racism. All three testimonios refer to instances of racism based on assumptions related to language, our appearances, and stereotypes of “typical Latinas.” Arguably, our parents enacted linguistic assimilation to offer us a path to inclusion with the dominant white culture by forgoing Spanish. However, our parents were not able to save us from the discomfort of being outsiders by not imbuing the gift of Spanish, nor were we able to overcome the hurt by virtue of our ability to navigate the white, dominant culture.

Cultural Burden and Honor

The last theme that emerged was the burden and honor we carry as representatives of our Latinx culture: Our service and success reflects on our families and communities. In each testimonios, we find an overwhelming sense of social responsibility. In the first testimonio, there is a clear, observable need to engage diverse students in and out of the classroom. In the second testimonio, we observe both challenges and strengths of bicultural identity in relation to students and motherhood. In the third, a clear understanding of power differential is paired with an evident need to engage students of color.

Discussion

In each of our testimonios, our identities were initially shaped by our families of origin and the communities we grew up in. Our identities were later shaped by academic institutions that did not reflect our culture. Our identities are inexorably linked to our work and lives in the academy as well as our commitment to our communities. Finding our way into the academy has been an existential journey, a path on which we learned the importance of our identities, heavily influenced by our communities, families, and work. Not speaking Spanish had a profound impact on our identities as well. We have multiple identities and each stand at an intersection, experiencing two worlds (biculturally): our families/communities of origin and the academy. In our testimonios, we cannot separate our experience from our intersectional identities as women of color and educators; we draw on those experiences to inform our practice. In line with the model of bicultural competence, we have found ways and means to operate across cultures, maintain our cultural identities, and adapt to the challenges we face as members of the professoriate (see Costigan & Su, 2004).

As suggested by Padilla (2006), it may be true that we are compensating for our perceived loss of language as a result of the messages transmitted from our families of origin related to ethnic loyalty and firm cultural identification. With respect to social capital, we view ourselves as institutional agents who can and do effectively mentor (often modeling our own mentors) and advocate for underrepresented students (see Stanton-Salazar, 2011). With respect to our roles as community members, educators, and mentors, we highly value our connections with communities and students of color. Having been taught by our own mentors, each of us is hyper aware of the importance of the student/teacher relationship and have sought ways to enhance those connections. Moreover, we know mentorship is critical for Latinx student success (Ramirez, 2013) and make it a point to support them (e.g., extra service above and beyond what is required), as we are beneficiaries of the mentorship we received. As students in social work, our Latina mentors and professors saw our potential, when we did not see it in ourselves. Through their hard work and perseverance, they forged the path for our success in higher education. We know it is now our turn to work with Latinx students to help them negotiate and navigate the educational system (Lechuga-Peña & Lechuga, 2018), a task that manifests in myriad ways. From working one-on-one with mentees to help usher them through the educational maze to serving on countless committees writing and reviewing curriculum; our work in the academy is a direct result of our bicultural roots. Our service to the community and our roles as educators mean we must intentionally reflect on our identities, positionalities, and cultural humility to be effective at our work as cultural brokers. As we work with a highly diverse social work student body, we agree that our values and lived experience must be excavated and shared. In essence, we have become adept at communicating our effectiveness and demonstrating a repertoire of roles, while maintaining firm ground in our homes and our work place (see LaFromboise et al., 1993).

Practice Implications

Evidenced in our testimonios are distinct cultural and educational pathways. Our experiences, intuitions, and theories frame our approaches in social work education. Through critical reflection of these components, we develop new insights, actions, and theories. By engaging in these processes with students and incorporating our evolving knowledge and actions in our teaching, we serve as unique models of reflective practice for future social workers.

Reflective practice is based on the premise that knowledge and action can be developed through critical reflection of previous experience, intuition, and theory (Schön, 1983). Reflective practice is an effective method of supporting social workers in their development of skilled action (Gould & Taylor, 1996/2017). Reflective practice provides an opportunity to explore roles assumed or not, the definitions of problems or lack thereof, and actions the practitioner has tried or considered. Through these reflections, innovative interventions in practice and methods in teaching can emerge. Reflective practice is particularly important in social work education in order to support students in understanding the nuances of decision-making and practice with vulnerable populations in clinical settings (Pray, 1991). Through the reflection and action, “a new theory of the unique case” (Schön, 1983, p. 68) is developed from our testimonios.

Important outcomes from our testimonios and reflections include the development of the power of transformation and the activation of learning they offer to social work students, practitioners, educators, and researchers (Chambers, 2003; Vakalahi & Starks, 2010). In the classroom or meeting directly with students, our willingness to be vulnerable in telling our experiences provides a space for connection over struggles and challenges and identifies strategies to navigating practice and the academy provides validation for Latinx students with varying levels of Spanish fluency and may enhance their experience in higher education (Vakalahi & Starks, 2010).

Limitations

We attest that our process and testimonios included herein were carefully crafted and analyzed to determine themes across narratives. However, limitations are evident. Specifically, we recognize that our personal stories may not reflect the experiences of other Latinx faculty and students. In addition, due to our positionality, we may have overlooked or developed themes that do not fully capture our individual and collective experiences. In sum, more data are needed to expand on the preliminary themes presented herein. We offer these testimonios as a starting place for future research that examines the role of identity and biculturalism among faculty of color working with students in schools of social work.

As educators, we demonstrate to our students that our identities are complex; we are not defined by only one single characteristic. The intersections of our various identities best capture our lived experiences (Hill Collins, 1990). We understand that our roles are critical, especially when considering the experiences of ethnic minority stressors that are associated with minority college student’s psychological well-being (e.g., Arbona & Jimenez, 2014). Latinx students experience less positive college experiences than do white students (Hurtado & Ponjuan, 2005; Jones, Castellanos, & Cole, 2002). However, research indicates that formal and informal interactions with supportive others like faculty may improve outcomes for students, especially if supports provide encouragement regarding student ability to succeed (Arbona, 2016).

Given potential issues related to Latina identity in the professoriate, and by extension, roles as educators, we seek to raise consciousness about biculturalism and demonstrate how it plays an important role in educating students. Considering the critical need for faculty of color in higher education and particularly in social work, the racialization of language, and biculturalism, we use our testimonios to shed light on the mechanisms involved with our identity as Latina educators. As we begin a dialogue about identity, biculturalism, and education, we point to a need for more education that examines, highlights, and celebrates the multiplicity of Latinx identities, including content related to intersections, navigating multiple cultural spaces, and the fact that Latinx identities are wonderfully, beautifully complex.