Chitwood

Mary Chitwood
Professor Micciche
English 3000
27 October 2014
The Tie Between Language and Identity: Intrinsic or Extrinsic?
Identity and language are closely associated; one cannot exist without
the other. Gloria Anzalda and Richard Rodriguez tackle the question of
whether or not ones native language is an inherent aspect of ones identity
in their respective works: How to Tame a Wild Tongue and Aria: Memoir of
a Bilingual Childhood. Anzalda stakes the claim that her native tongue is
an integral part of her identity. She associates her personhood with her
native language and alludes to the untranslatable aspect of this identity. In
contrast, Rodriguez believes that identity can be maintained even in another
language, although he admits to certain losses in the process. Since
language is a vehicle for identity (the means by which identity is relayed to
another person), the two words can be hard to define apart from each other.
However, while language is a large part of identity, both as vehicle and
individualistic expression (colloquialism), identity can transcend language.
Although Anzalda certainly sees language as a vehicle for identity,
she also sees language as the key expression of her identity. Anzalda uses
psychologist Gershen Kaufmans definition of identity, which states, Identity
is the essential core of who we are as individuals, the conscience experience
of the self inside (84). As Chicanas are neither espaol ni ingls but both,

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Anzalda explains that they need a language that reflects this borderless
culture of the part Anglo, part Chicana (77). Therefore, their language is a
melded, meting-pot tongue that is neither one nor the other, but both (77).
This creation of a new language is unique in that it reveals where Anzalda
has come from, where she is, and what she identifies with. She is not against
the remolding of an old tongue, or she would not have mutilat[ed] Spanish
(77). Instead she embraces both English and Spanish culture. Her work
strongly conveys this by utilizing a bilingual language. She chooses not to
translate many words and sentences, letting the foreign words speak two
separate messages to her audience: the literal translation of the words (that
online translation cites afford) and the undercurrent feeling of being an
outsider, which the reader experiences with growing prevalence as the work
progresses. Within these messages, she subtly poses a question of
translatability. She rhetorically asks the reader if foreign thoughts and
feelings (foreign identity) can be translated into the English vernacular, and
her forked tongue suggests a negative answer (77). Her identity is rooted
in both English and Spanish, and thus reflected in her language. She goes so
far as to state: I am my language, and If a person, Chicana or Latina, has
a low estimation of my native tongue, she also has a low estimation of me
(80-81). Her language is individualistic and the essence of her identity.
To convey this, How to Tame a Wild Tongue embraces a war-like
language, comparing the silencing of a language to the silencing (or killing)
of a person (76). Her language(s) are representative of culture and

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individuality, therefore stripping her of her language is an act of war, an

unwanted integration, a death of a living language (77). There is no
separation of language and identity. Her identity is as a Chicana, and the
identity of a Chicana is understood through this separate, secret language
(77). Anzaldas abrasive response to those that she believes are silencing
her tongue is natural, since the ravaging of ones identity (the expression of
ones core beliefs) is by default the ravaging of the person. At one point, she
titles a section linguistic terrorism, and proceeds to use phrases such as
culturally crucified, orphan tongue, and even bastard language (80).
This is her reflection of how she and all Chicanas are treated. She speaks
directly about her language, but the indirect implication is one of a
crucified woman, an orphan woman, a bastard woman. She cannot
separate identity and language. The word is the meaning. The word is the
woman. For Anzalda, to separate identity and language would be suicide.
In Aria: Memoir of a Bilingual Childhood, Richard [Ricardo] Rodriguez
retains some of this tonal sadness and loss even as he maintains a divergent
stance. Similar to Anzaldas secret language, Rodriguez writes of his
familys language, calling it a private language (311). Within this, he
feels a similar identity and intimacy in the language. He writes, Like others
who know the pain of public alienation, we transformed the knowledge of our
public separateness and made it consolingthe reminder of intimacy (313).
Mentally, separateness is made into exclusivity, the private and public
defense mechanism of this borderless people. Thus, when Rodriguez begins

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to speak English (and not ingls), he feels disconnected from his own family
(317). The lack of intimacy begins to translate into a loss of identity (is he
Ricardo or Richard?). Rodriguez calls the linguistic transition painful,
describing his frustration at no longer being able to adequately express his
thoughts and feelings to his parents (who spoke less English than he and his
siblings did) (317). His communication with his family dwindled at the
inability to express deep thoughts by means of shallow, inarticulate English
(320-321). He recalls playing with an English-speaking friend as a child and
attempting to translate to his friend what his grandmother calls to him (323).
He ends up declining to translate the words because any translation would
distort the deepest meaning of her message [] because it was not in the
words she has used but passed through them (323). Here Rodriguez admits
the struggle to translate even as he realizes that words are a conveyer of
intimacy. In this respect, Rodriguez strongly identifies with Anzaldas
closeness to language.
However, Rodriquez suggests that the protection of ones identity
requires a re-identification with a new language: former feelings, new words.
Just as he talks about the untranslatable aspect of words, so he digs to the
root of words, and finds that intimacy, and identity, can transcend words.
Rodrigues addresses an anonymous Hispanic-American writer, who states
that he will never give up [his] family language. [He] would sooner give up
[his] soul (326). Rodriguez refutes this claim (which is almost identical to
Anzaldas statements) by returning to the notion of intimacy; he says, He

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credits to language what he should credit to his family members (326).

Words are visible, hearable utterances that convey meaning. However, the
meaning behind words cannot be contained within just one language.
Ultimately, language is the vehicle, the driving force by which identity is
conveyed. Rodriguez supports this by supporting intimacy (which is akin to
identity in its depth and its untranslatable aspect). He writes, Intimacy is
not created by a particular language; it is created by intimates (323). He
reiterates this: Intimacy is not trapped within words. It passes through
words (329). A sweet realization comes to Rodriguez as he is at home; his
mother looks at him, smiles, and speaks to him in English (323). While the
words themselves were nothing special, he writes: her voice sounded to tell
me (We are together) I was her son. (Richard!) (323). His use of parenthesis
conveys a message that is deeper than words: his identity remains. He is, in
fact, both Ricardo and Richard because they are one and the same. The
name does not change the man. The language does not change the identity.
Intimacy [identity] is conveyed in both languages because it is transcendent
to language.
Though Anzalda and Rodriguezs claims about identity are not
diametrically opposed, they do place value and meaning in different places.
Anzalda embraces her melting-pot language in order to preserve her
heritage, her memories, and her identity. While she can and does relate to
people in both Spanish and English (as shown by her bilingual work How to
Tame a Wild Tongue), she finds her identity specifically in her native

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language (80). She has no desire to find an identity in another tongue. She
seems to fear the loss of her identity, in her adamancy to retain her
language. Her identity is not transferable to another language. However,
Anzaldas language (or, identity) is inseparable from her memories (83).
She writes in a picturesque and aromatic language of blue skies,
woodsmoke and tantalizing foods (83). Her language contains these
memories. Certainly, a separate language is helpful in maintaining ones
heritage. For Anzalda, it is the trigger for memories, the vault for identity.
While she has a vault, Rodriguez has a vehicle. Her goal is preservation, not
integration, while Rodriguez values both. He, like Anzalda, has memories
connected to his native tongue (the intimacy of coming home to speak
Spanish) and includes these memories within his identity (312). However,
even while admitting the hard process of finding his identity in English,
Rodriguez comes to value the unchanging intimacy that stems from a
constant, transferable, identity.
Language can be a vault or a vehicle, the essence of identity or the
means to relating it. Just because a person strongly identifies with ones
native language does not mean that it is (or has to be) the core of ones
identity. As Anzalda expresses, language has the capacity to hold identity; it
can encapsulate memories and even personal dogmas. But identity can also
transcend language, as Rodriguez claims, and survive in different languages.
Whether or not a person believes that language is integral to identity, it is
certainly a significant component.

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Works Cited
Anzalda, Gloria. How to Tame a Wild Tongue. Borderlands/La Frontera. 2nd
ed. San

Francisco: Aunt Lute Books, 1999. 75-86. Print.

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Rodriguez, Richard. Aria: Memoir of a Bilingual Childhood. 50 Essays: A
Portable

Anthology. 3rd ed. Ed. Samuel Cohen. Boston: Bedford/St.

Martins, 2011. 307-29.

Print.