Archival Recording
Radio GLLU: 1988 April 24
[Music]
Eduardo Archuleta
Bienvenido to Radio GLLU's second anniversary show. This is Eduardo Archuleta with what's her name.
Rita Gonzales
And this is what's her name, better known to family and friends as Rita Gonzales. Before we start this evening's show, I'd like to say a special hello to the women I met last weekend in Redlands. Hello. And tonight for our second anniversary show, we'd like to share some of our favorite readings, which he and I, Rita, will read for you.
Eduardo Archuleta
The 'he' being Eduardo. We'll also have some music. Rita, did you bring the records?
Eduardo Archuleta
This is Eduardo Archuleta, with what's her name.
Rita Gonzales
And this is what's her name, better known to family and friends as Rita Gonzales. Before we start this evening's show, I'd like to say a special hello to the women I met last weekend in Redland. Hello. And tonight for our second anniversary show, we'd like to share some of our favorite readings, which he and I, Rita, will read for you.
Eduardo Archuleta
The he, being Eduardo. We'll also have some music. Rita, did you bring the records?
Rita Gonzales
No, I thought you were.
Eduardo Archuleta
Rita, you said you were going to bring the records.
Rita Gonzales
Well, I forgot.
Eduardo Archuleta
Well, it's a good thing I invited some of our favorite Latino artists to be with us tonight.
[KNOCKING]
Rita Gonzales
Wait! Someone's at yonder window. Why it's–
Rita Gonzales & Eduardo Archuleta
–it’s Celia Cruz!
Eduardo Archuleta
Celia, ¿cómo has estado?
Rita Gonzales
[Impersonating Celia Cruz] Bien, chica bien. Y tú, ¿cómo están?
Eduardo Archuleta
Bien, aquí nomas esperandote. Cántame una canción.
Rita Gonzales
Ok.
Eduardo Archuleta
Canta “Qué Bella Es Cuba.”
Rita Gonzales
[As Celia Cruz]: Bueno. 1, 2, 3.
[“QUÉ BELLA ES CUBA”BY CELIA CRUZ]
Eduardo Archuleta
Thank you, Celia, for being with us. I know you have to leave now.
Rita Gonzales
[As Celia Cruz] Gracias, Eduardo y Rita. Ciao.
Eduardo Archuleta
Ciao.
Eduardo Archuleta
So what I would like to share right now, Rita, is some work by Luis Cernuda. He was born in Sevilla in 1902. And then he moved to Mexico in 1952. These works are from the last ten years of his life.
[“CONTIGO” BY LUIS CERNUDA WITH ENGLISH TRANSLATION]
“¿Mi tierra?
Mi tierra eres tú.
¿Mi gente?
Mi gente eres tú.
El destierro y la muerte
para mi están adonde
no estés tú.
¿Y mi vida?
Dime, mi vida,
¿qué es, si no eres tú?”
[“SALVADOR” BY LUIS CERNUDA]
This next one is “Salvador.”
Save him
Or damn him
Because now his
Destiny is in your hands
Abolished
If you are a savior, save him
From you and from himself
Calm the violence of his
Not being one with you
Or if you are not
Then damn him
So that by his desire
Torment will follow torment
Save him then, or damn him
But do not allow him to go on living
And to lose you”
[“DIVINIDAD CELOSA” BY LUIS CERNUDA]
The next one is “Divinidad Celosa.”
Los cuatro elementos primarios
Dan forma a mi existir:
Un cuerpo sometido al tiempo,
Siempre ansioso de ti.
Porque el tiempo de amor nos vale
Toda una eternidad
Donde ya el hombre no va solo.
Y Dios celoso está.
Déjame amarte ahora. Un día,
Temprano o tarde, Dios
Dispone que el amante deba
Renunciar a su amor.
Rita Gonzales
That was beautiful, Eduardo. Will you read one more?
Eduardo Archuleta
Okay. The next one is called “Life.”
When the sun shines into
some corner of the earth,
redeeming its poverty,
filling it with green laughter,
so your presence comes over "
my dark existence to exalt it,
to give it splendor, beauty, pleasure,
but then you depart just as the sun does
and the shadow of old ages,
solitude and death grow around me.
Rita Gonzales
Thank you, Eduardo, for sharing with us. That was beautiful.
Eduardo Archuleta
Thank you.
[KNOCKING]
Rita Gonzales
There's someone else at the window. What? It's Hermanos Zaizar.
Eduardo Archuleta
Rita, ¿cómo has estado?
Rita Gonzales
Muy bien, y tu como estan?
Eduardo Archuleta
Bien, bien. Eduardo invited us to come and sing a song for you.
Rita Gonzales
Oh, that's great. Will you sing “La Adelita”?
[“LA ADELITA” PLAYS]
Rita Gonzales
Gracias, Hermanos Zaizar.
Eduardo Archuleta
[AS HERMANOS ZÁIZAR] O no hay de que, Rita. We are going to have to be leaving now. So bye Eduardo. Bye Rita.
Rita Gonzales
Ciao.
Eduardo Archuleta
Ciao, baby. Rita, would you like to share now?
Rita Gonzales
Yes, I'd love to, Eduardo. I'd first like to read something called “Del Otro Lado” by Gloria Evangelina Anzaldúa.
[“DEL OTRO LADO” BY GLORIA ANZALDÚA]
“She looks at the border park fence. Posts are stuck into her throat, her naval, her body torn in two. Half a woman on the other side, half a woman on this side, the right side, and she went to the North American University, excelled in the gringo's tongue, learned to file in folders, but she remembered the other half, strangled in Aztec villages, in Mayan villages, in Inca villages.
She watched her land made hostile, and she a stranger, an 80,000 year old illegal alien. "Go back to where you came from," she is told. She is spanked for speaking her natal tongue. She is laughed at for eating her mother's tortillas and chilies. She's ridiculed for wearing her bright shawls. The ancient dance is beaten back inside her. The old song choked back into her throat. At night when no one is looking, she sings the song of the wounded. The wind carries her wails into the cities and the deserts.
The half of her that's on the other side walks lost through the land, dropping bits of herself, a hand, a shoulder, a chunk of hair. Her pieces scattered over the desert, the mountains and the valley. Her mute voice whispers through grass stems. She sings the song of the wounded. She howls her pain to the moon. No time to grieve. No time to heal. Hers is a struggle of the flesh, a struggle of borders, an inner war. She remembers the horror in her sister's voice. “Eres una de las otras.” The look in her mother's face, as she says, "I am so ashamed. I will never be able to raise my head in this pueblo." The mother's words are barbs digging into her flesh. De las otras, cast out, untouchable.
"But I'm me," she cries. "I've always been me."
"Don't bring your queer friends into my house, my land, the planet. Get away. Don't contaminate us. Get away." And away she went. But every place she went, they pushed her to the other side, and that other side pushed her to the other side of the other side of the other side. Kept in the shadows of others. No right to sing, to rage, to explode. "You should be ashamed of yourself. People are starving in Ethiopia, dying in Guatemala and Nicaragua, while you talk about gay rights and orgasms," pushed to the edge of the world. There, she made her home on the edge of towns, of neighborhoods, blocks, houses, always pushed toward the other side. In all lands, alien, nowhere citizen. Away she went. But each place she went pushed to the other side. Al otro lado.”
Eduardo Archuleta
I like that, Rita. You want to read something else?
Rita Gonzales
Yes. There's another favorite of mine. This is by Adelia Mendez. It's entitled, Mother.
[“MOTHER” BY ADELIA MENDEZ]
“How is it that all this time I have not dedicated one rhyme to you? You, who carried me and nursed me and comfort me even today. Mother, I see you make tortillas and tamales and caldo, especially for me. I see you beaten in spirit by my father. You lay there quiet as plates fly through the air, as he releases his oppressions on you, like a doe watching a tiger stalk through a jungle and you wait. Will you be next? I take care of my brother because you have to work in that army kitchen all day.
At 10, I cared for my four-year-old brother and I'm scared, but strong because you need me. I clean the house to ease your load. I don't want to see you burdened. I listen to your painful attempts to tell me about the blood that will come soon. I'm in the fourth grade, but you know that even fifth graders get their period. I have not forgotten the language. And in Spanish, you struggle to tell me to be careful with the boys. The blood will soon come, but you can't tell me why.
We talk woman-to-woman, blood relatives, and when it comes, there are no pads. So you get rags. With a nickel in my hand, I walk to school, to the gym, to the machine to throw the rags away. Those blood rags go into the trash. I grow older and I'm not like the other girls. I'm a woman in your image and you've made me strong. You've taught me to fight my battles. You don't expect me to make tortillas, but to think about who first made tortillas and what the future holds for the tortillas and my relatives laugh at you for not preparing me to be a good wife, but I'm different.
I don't need a husband to take care of me. And you're proud. You're proud that I went to college, got a career bought and sold two houses, and there's no telling what else. But I'm not an orphan like you. But if I were, you know that I could make it. Your daughter will never see the abuse that you experienced out of necessity. I painfully watch you walk away. My father is in a rage on this trip and you're ordered to pack and go with him. Still obedient, you reluctantly follow orders and leave for the next town to see my brother.
In a phone call, you say you want to return to see me, and I say no. Three days in my home and you will discover that my roommate and I are lovers and I weep as I deny you my home. And you don't know why, but you say you understand. And I weep.
As adults, we share respect. You flatter me for saying that my words are equal to your peers and I gloat. At the time, I foolishly believe you're right, but the wisdom is not the same and I am truly the fool. Then one day you bloom. You find a job that brings you pride, you educate your mind, and you become a citizen, In one fair swoop, you eliminate my father. The man cannot exist unless he is master to a slave. And when he leaves, you return to me with pain and trauma and fear.
And the fear is one sign I have never seen in your face. The fear scares me and I, the fool, try to comfort you. I try to be strong knowing that my strength comes from you. I put my arms around you and I love you, mother, hoping that I can love as well as you when you need me the most. Two women from separate worlds made from the same clay. I reveal my lovers to you, mother, and you don't object. You tell me you know that I am different.”
Eduardo Archuleta
Thank you, Rita.
Rita Gonzales
I have something else I'd like to read. I read it a couple of months ago, but it's become one of my favorites. I'd like to share with you again. It's My Coming Out Story by Zuma Duran.
[“MY COMING OUT STORY” BY ZUMA DURAN]
“I wish I had the courage to look for a support system to help me through those early years of self negation, self-doubt, fear, and loneliness. But those were the '50s, the years of Ozzie and Harriet and Father Knows Best. I was brought up in a Puerto Rican family, which in my case, meant a tightly knit, overprotective, smothering, sexually oppressive environment. I don't remember discussing sex at home any more than that, that at any of the parochial schools I attended.
Nevertheless, I learned about sex at home early and directly. First from my father and then from my aunt's husband. There was also my girl cousin on my father's side who lived in the next building. I don't remember how old I was or how old she was, but we were both pretty young. I didn't know it was sex we were having. I just knew that our games made me feel good. We played doctor. We usually included my brother and two boyfriends, sons of neighbors who parents were friends of my parents. The five of us would take turns at being doctor, nurse and patient.
After though, she and I would do away with the nurse and just play doctor and patient in the privacy of the consulting room. We'd put the boys in the reception room, which seemed to be an eternity. They'd come in and complain, but we'd give them some excuses and only let them play when they became restless or threatened to blow our cover. Sometimes we'd just tell them we didn't want to play anymore.
Then there were times when she and I played alone, while mom would visit the neighbors or go shopping. I remember I was crazy about my cousin. Our play felt so natural, so good. Suddenly, she stopped coming over. I had no other friends. Later in grammar school, I had special feelings for a girlfriend. I guess it was a crush, but I never told her about it. During my adolescent years, my cousin lived nearby, but we never got together or had the kind of relationship we had in childhood. She was very popular and had many girlfriends.
I got to know one of her friends who became a friend of the family. Once this girl asked me if she could stay over. I couldn't understand why she'd want to stay overnight with me. After all, she was my cousin's dearest friend. But I said yes. In the middle of the night, I felt her stroking my back. I didn't move. I was petrified. She tried to touch my breasts, but I was laying on my stomach. And I prayed she wouldn't reach them. She didn't. She never asked to stay over again, and the incident was never acknowledged.
In my late teens, early twenties, I met other women who were either interested in me or I in them. I remember the long gazes, the brushing up against each other moves, and how we let certain parts of our bodies touch when we stayed overnight and slept together.
As I began to explore my sexuality with men, I realized that the attraction I felt for them was not the same quality as the attraction I felt for women. The excitement, the feeling of oneness enhanced by separateness, the throbbing, pulsating desire, the wetness I experienced with women, I felt for or with no man. At some level, I recognized my sexual preference, but never openly to myself or anyone.
Since I had yet to find a man who could sweep me off my feet, and I was unable to confront my feelings towards women, I became very introverted. My mother worried about my self-imposed isolation and told me she had this woman friend who she wanted me to meet. At first, I didn't like her, but she was persistent at poking a hole in my balloon. Suddenly, it burst and I slowly began to let her get close to me. We began to spend time together and a friendship gradually developed. Eventually, it turned into a love affair, which became sexual, but was never referred to as a Lesbian relationship.
We lived together and shared the same bed for five years, but we never came out to ourselves, to one another, or to our friends. It took another five years to separate emotionally. During this separation process, I chose not to be involved with anyone. I left NYC and moved to California, living in virtual isolation for about six years. I was still in the closet.
With a lot of time to think, I made a decision. I would let a second woman into my life, my straight therapist. Another year passed before I would get close to anyone else. At this point, I met a woman, and not long after, we became friends. One day she told me she was a Lesbian and she found me attractive. I was shocked. What was I going to do? I was 34, in the closet and suddenly being confronted by a beautiful woman who called herself a Lesbian. If only I had not found her attractive. She presented me with a challenge and I accepted and we became sexually involved.
Later, however, I felt panic. She was understanding and supportive of me throughout that experience, and then left me to go back to her ex-lover. It had been seven years since I'd fallen in love, and it wasn't until the end of this last year that I allowed myself to feel again. But by now, I was finally out of the closet. Already calling myself a Lesbian, I met a wonderful woman and decided to approach her. She told me she considered herself bisexual and was very enthusiastic about my being a Lesbian. We became lovers. However, it was her first Lesbian relationship and it didn't take long before fear of Krypton engulfing her until she packed her bags and flew the hell out of town, 3000 miles away.
Although I have not recovered entirely from this last experience, I know it won't be long before I'm able to have a mutually loving Lesbian relationship, before I'm 40.”
[KNOCKING]
Eduardo Archuleta
So there's somebody else at the door, Rita.
Rita Gonzales
Who is it? It's Vicente Fernandez!
Eduardo Archuleta
Hello, Vicente. So nice of you to drop by.
Oh, pues estado aqui.
Good. Could you sing a couple songs for us?
Seguro que si..
Rita Gonzales
Oh, that's great.
Eduardo Archuleta
Sing “Maria, Maria” y “Tenía Razón”. Okay.
Rita Gonzales
We'd like to thank everyone for listening to Radio GLLU second anniversary show and-
Eduardo Archuleta
Especially all the artists that came in special to be with us.
Rita Gonzales
I thought that was great. That was terrific. I mean, Eduardo, you really outdid yourself this time.
Eduardo Archuleta
What can I say? Just one of my many talents.
Rita Gonzales
Yes, it's one of your many. Now, for a serious moment. Are you ready for a serious moment?
Eduardo Archuleta
Rita Gonzales & Eduardo Archuleta
I'm ready. I think I can handle it.
Rita Gonzales
We'd like to thank IMRU for letting us be part of their format for the last two years, and we hope we can continue being here for another year. We'd also like to encourage people that are listening to Radio GLLU to write to us and let us know what you'd like to hear, or if you have something you wanted presented on the show.
Eduardo Archuleta
Also, we're open to people coming and volunteering and helping and being a voice, if you'd like. Basically because this show is real important to us, or at least it is to me, because we're able to reach an audience that has never been reached before, you, Gay and Lesbian Latinos, and Latinos out there. So we hope to continue this, but we do need your support and the little encouragement. So if you can-
Rita Gonzales
You can write to us, you can write to Radio GLLU care of GLLU, G-L-L-U, at 1213 North Highland Avenue, Los Angeles, 90038.
Eduardo Archuleta
We'd also like to thank a woman who's put up with us for many times, and again tonight she was our engineer and technical advisor, Cindy Friedman.
Rita Gonzales
Yay! A very tolerant woman, I might add.
Eduardo Archuleta
With a wonderful disposition.
Rita Gonzales
And we'd like to give a special thanks to everyone else that's helped this last year. Actually, there's been many people.
Eduardo Archuleta
Yeah, there's been a lot of people We'd like to thank and more numerous than our show allows, and thank you.
Rita Gonzales
Remember Radio GLLU is aired the fourth Sunday of each month.
Eduardo Archuleta
And we'd like to thank you for listening tonight, and we'd also like you to stay tuned for IMRU News and Calendar coming up next.
Rita Gonzales & Eduardo Archuleta
Gracias y buenas noches.
Credits:
“Radio Gay and Lesbian Latinos Unidos (GLLU) 1988 April 24,” open reel audiotape (7 inch reel). IMRU Radio Sound Recordings and Administrative Records, 1970-2011. ONE Archives at the USC Libraries.