Crash: Fact or Fiction?

LAST week after our discussion in class I decided to rewatch the movie “Crash,” and what I found about that movie is that no matter how many times I watch it, it will never cease to make me cry. After watching how the people in the movie treat each other, how they spurt out racial slurs, how they stereotype one another, and how they each hold so much hatred toward their fellow Angelenos, it made me wonder… is Los Angeles really like this?

Watching the movie, I sat with my hand over my mouth in shock, disturbed by how people treat their fellow human beings. But the worst part about watching the movie, is that it’s not entirely fiction—some version of these stories can be seen all throughout the city. The movie can at times feel overwhelming or exaggerated because all of the stories are compiled into one… but that’s just Hollywood’s interpretation.

But despite this, a lot of the scenes in the movie ring true. From where I grew up in Orange County I saw plenty of racism. In Orange County, the white Protestant is king and all of the other ethnicities are clumped together in a blur of “us vs. them” mentality. However, in L.A. there is a different type of racism. It’s not just us vs. them, but it is everyone vs. each other.

I noticed when watching “Crash” that it wasn’t just Sandra Bullock’s character who was racist towards her Hispanic maid, or Matt Dillon’s character to the black woman he pulls over. But throughout the movie, there are all different forms of racism. Different ethnicities are racist towards each other, and some are even racist towards people of their same race.

Normally when watching this movie, I get caught up in the emotional scene where the Persian storeowner almost shoots the young girl, or the scene where Matt Dillon saves the life of the same woman he assaulted. However, this time I began to look more closely at the relationships between the characters and how close they come to other situations I have been witness to in the city. In particular, I noticed the relationship between Terrence Howard’s character, Cameron and Ludacris’ character, Anthony. Though they are both black men, they are pitted against one another because of their socioeconomic standings, and in an emotional culmination of events, Cameron tells Anthony that he is an embarrassment, not only to him but to himself.

While you might not see blank bullets being fired at children, or women being saved from burning cars every day in Los Angeles, I think occurrences like the exchange between Cameron and Anthony is a common one in this city. Though we like to think of ourselves as accepting and tolerant in our little collegiate bubble, the streets of L.A. are filled with hatred and prejudice, maybe not to the level that “Crash” would lead us to believe, but more than we would like to admit.

-- Megan McMurtrey

(photo via http://www.iwatchstuff.com/mt/mt-search.cgi?tag=dvd&blog_id=1)

Of Cholas and Irvineites

Or: The Time I Almost Got Beat By A Real Life Chola

Growing up in Orange County, I was very sheltered in terms of not really knowing about other ethnicities and the threat of gangs. With a loud Mexican family on my mom’s side, I was always teased about how much of an Irvinite I was and that I didn’t even know any "real" Mexicans. I always denied the accusations that my cousins threw at me, thinking that my awareness of Mexican traditions and culture was enough. After all, it’s not my fault and I love my little bubble of Irvine.

Feeling like a night out with my older cousin Shannon and friend Kelly from home, Shannon came up with the idea that we should go out to LA. Excited by the fact that we were traveling outside of our comfortable bubble to the big city, Kelly and I dressed to the nines. Dresses, heels, the whole deal. Well what my cousin forgot to mention, is that we were going to stop over in East LA to this authentic Mexican fast food place called King Taco. Loving every taco and sopa, I wasn’t sure how Kelly would take it. As we drove up to the older and more culturally diverse location, I noticed that there were a lot of people. Though it was nighttime and not the best area, I thought well, nothing will happen because look at all the people.

Shannon decides to get in line, since Kelly and I cannot order for ourselves in Spanish, and we decide to slip inside and go to the bathroom. That’s when the real fun began. The very first second I walk inside the bathroom, I look around and see that there are about five chola- looking girls, a little older than me, congregating around the stalls. Trying not to freak out too early, I don’t make eye contact but of course can’t help but stare at their Dickie pants, wife- beaters, red lipstick, and penciled-in eyebrows. I can feel them up-and-downing me, looking at my ridiculous dress. This is definitely a type of Mexican girl that I’ve only heard about. Immediately closing the bathroom door behind me, I take a couple breaths and hope that Kelly is not noticing the danger that we possibly could have walked into.

Thinking about the Jack Lopez essay, "Of Cholos and Surfers," I probably should have just been calm and cool, making myself to be on just the same level as the cholas. But it was a little hard to do that in a fancy dress and heels. I probably wouldn’t have even made it out the door if the girls had decided to pummel me. As all these thoughts go through my head while I’m in the stall, I gather myself, take a breath, and walk back into the war zone -- the sink. I barely speak to Kelly, hoping my eyes would tell her to stay calm and don’t act to Valley girl or obvious Orange County native.

Once we are both ready to leave, I lead and give a quick grin to at least acknowledge the cholas. Surprisingly, they just look at me and move aside to let us out. As soon as we reach the freedom of the public restaurant, I take a deep breath and ask Kelly what she thought of her first chola encounter. She had no idea what didn’t but could’ve happened.

--Jessica Fernandez