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Profiles in #URiMedPhys: Richard Castillo
I Don't Speak Spanish
August, 2021
I was born in San Antonio, TX, in November 1981. The second of three children born to Mexican-American parents, both second-generation in the United States. I do not speak Spanish.
It is not something I am particularly proud to admit. I still brace myself for the looks of disappointed confusion that I receive so often when confronted with conversational Spanish to which I can only respond with a blank stare. It has always been a source of embarrassment for me. In most cases it is just an honest mistake - after all, most people that look like me do speak Spanish - and the other side of the conversation usually is just as embarrassed for wrongly assuming.
Other times, however, it is deliberately prodded as a source of ridicule; as though it represents a fatal and unforgivable flaw in my character that somehow invalidates any claim to- or representation of- the racial and ethnic heritage of my ancestors. One such episode continues to resonate with me in the ten years since it occurred. I had recently finished my PhD and was in the first 2-3 months of my first job as a professional medical physicist. I had just picked up a coffee at the large hospital common area and was standing at the cream and sugar station fixing my drink. A group of Hispanic men in bright orange construction attire was huddled in the area immediately adjacent. They were speaking amongst themselves, and of course I thought nothing of it until something caught my attention. I happened to pick up on one of the men commenting how they were the only Hispanics around. I was amused for just a moment, and almost by reflex was about to give a nod of solidarity in their direction just as another gestured toward me as though to indicate, ’there is one,’ to the group. My perception of camaraderie was short lived, however, as another in the group quickly retorted, ‘yeah, but not a real one.’ All in Spanish.
I understood, because despite not being able to speak Spanish, I did grow up around it, and as a result I am able to understand a fair amount in passing. This person clearly felt comfortably certain that I would not understand. In fact, he was blatant in his ridicule, simply because of my badge perhaps, or the way I was dressed.
Maybe it does not sound like much to be upset about, but this was particularly hard for me to hear at a time which I imagine for many is a period of self-doubt as one makes the transition from a lifetime of schooling into the real world as a practicing clinical professional. It is not lost on me that the guy was at least partly right - I cannot speak Spanish. But I can be quite certain that his preconception as to why, was wrong.
I was always a really good student in school when I was young. Generally, I understood when I was being taught, and I got the help and support I needed when I needed it. For my dad, this was not the case growing up. He was a terrible student. He received poor grades, and he was punished often for not listening to his school teachers. Why? They spoke English. He spoke Spanish. And that simple fact of his life made for a tremendous amount of difficulty and hardship for him to endure, particularly as a child. Despite those hardships, he managed to get himself through school, and even went on to complete Masters degrees in nursing and in business administration. He was the first in his family to graduate college, let alone receive multiple graduate degrees. A success story to be sure. But, nevertheless, one that has left its scars. I never learned Spanish as a child, out of a sense of protection. Because my parents refused to take the chance that I, or my siblings, should have to endure the type of hardship faced by my dad as a kid. Whatever hardships we would endure in our lives, they would not be because we could not speak English.
A bit of an overreaction? It is not anyone’s place but theirs to say. Although with 3 kids and 3 PhDs one could argue they did something right.
Perhaps instead it is a sobering testament to the human consequence of abuse borne out of ignorance and indifference to the background and experience of others who are not like you. This was a sacrifice by my parents, not a shortfall.
Those men, who were complete strangers, had the power to make me feel so profoundly alone in that moment, and in the matter of a quick laugh over coffee in the morning. The insult had hit home. I am a Mexican-American who has faced plenty of racism in my life - mostly dirty looks, hate-filled speech and derogatory comments, deliberate mispronunciation of my name, refusal to accept my academic credentials or professional prefix, as well as deliberate, undermining under-utilization of my competency, skillset, and qualification. I recognize that I am not alone in this regard, and I am not comforted by that fact. But I do find great strength and inspiration in the growing sense of community and support driven by a generation of talented and ambitious young Hispanics in our field. Emboldened to have a voice. In English or in Spanish.
@rcmedphys
Profiles in URiMedPhys: Richard Castillo
Reflecting on Kenosha
November 19, 2021
Today, the Kenosha County Circuit Court rendered a not guilty verdict, acquitting Kyle Rittenhouse of all charges related to the August 25, 2020, shooting deaths of Joseph Rosenbaum and Anthony Huber, as well as the severe injury of Gaige Grosskreutz.
It is a complicated time in the United States.
We are dangerously hyper-polarized.
Perhaps it is not something new.
Perhaps it is only our modern sense of connectivity and awareness that affords us this seemingly new perspective. Life itself is snuffed out in the public eye. Whether at the hand of sworn security officers, or by our common citizen in the name of vigilante law and order, or by a relentless and indiscriminate natural and remarkable viral entity that by our own social construct disproportionately ravages the underserved and least privileged among us.
At the highest levels of government. Our elected congress cannot bring itself to consensus that fantasized and publicly disseminated depictions of violence against fellow citizens and members of their own congressional body, of their fellow human beings, are wrong. We, as a nation, cannot concede that such behavior is wholly despicable, and should be admonished for its basic and fundamental disregard for the sanctity of human life and dignity. Is it any wonder that the visceral anger and frustration felt by populations so profoundly aggrieved compels recourse? How we choose to stage this debate; this conversation about identity, equality, and the value of our shared humanity defines our future.
I humbly submit that we recognize the existential importance of this moment in history.
I am personally upset by today’s verdict. By most accounts, this outcome was the odds-on favorite. But that does not make it less upsetting - in fact, in many ways it makes it worse. It was expected perhaps because we see in courtroom TV trials and legal proceedings that despite our seemingly ingrained and primeval convictions that the very fabric of our humanity has been so grossly violated, our written law so often does not coincide with our personal experiences, or our personal understandings of the Nation’s founding principles of equality and the God-given right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.
It is ok to be angry and it is ok to be disappointed. It is ok to be upset about a courtroom verdict. And it is ok to feel frustration and to shed tears for the lives lost. It is ok to cry in consideration of the veil of loss to be worn by family, friends, and loved ones of the deceased until the end of their days. This is empathy, and it defines our humanity. You are allowed to have feelings outside of the adjudication of the law. You are allowed to engage your humanity.
I would further submit that it is only when we come to recognize and respect our collective shared humanity that true and lasting change can happen.
@rcmedphys