She Sees in Herself a New Woman Everyday Document <?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> <?xml-model href="http://www.tei-c.org/release/xml/tei/custom/schema/relaxng/tei_all.rng" type="application/xml" schematypens="http://relaxng.org/ns/structure/1.0"?> <?xml-model href="http://www.tei-c.org/release/xml/tei/custom/schema/relaxng/tei_all.rng" type="application/xml" schematypens="http://purl.oclc.org/dsdl/schematron"?> <?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" href="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/LEAF-VRE/code_snippets/refs/heads/main/CSS/leaf.css" title="LEAF" ?> <TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0"> <teiHeader> <fileDesc> <titleStmt> <title>She Sees n Herself a New Woman Every Day</title> <author>Martha Rosler</author> <respStmt> <persName>Eowyn Andres</persName> <resp>Editor (2024-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Haley Beardsley</persName> <resp>Editor (2021-2024)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Lyndon Beier</persName> <resp>Editor (2023-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Erica Delsandro</persName> <resp>Investigator, editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Mia DeRoco</persName> <resp>Editor (2023-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Margaret Hunter</persName> <resp>Editor (2021-2024)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Diane Jakacki</persName> <resp>Invesigator, encoder</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Sophie McQuaide</persName> <resp>Editor (2021-2023)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Olivia Martin</persName> <resp>Editor, encoder (2021)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Zoha Nadeer</persName> <resp>Editor (2022-2023)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Bri Perea</persName> <resp>Editor (2022-2023)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Carrie Pirmann</persName> <resp>Editor, encoder (2023-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Valeria Riley</persName> <resp>Editor (2024-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Ricky Rodriguez</persName> <resp>Editor (2022-2023)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Roger Rothman</persName> <resp>Investigator, editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Valeria Riley</persName> <resp>Editor (2024-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Kaitlyn Segreti</persName> <resp>Editor (2021-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Maggie Smith</persName> <resp>Editor (2021-2024)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Maya Wadhwa</persName> <resp>Editor (2021-2023)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Kelly Troop</persName> <resp>Editor (2023-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Lucy Wadswoth</persName> <resp>Editor (2022-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Anna Marie Wingard</persName> <resp>Editor (2023-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Olivia Wychock</persName> <resp>Graduate Editor (2024-Present)</resp> </respStmt> <funder>Bucknell University Humanities Center</funder> <funder>Bucknell University Office of Undergraduate Research</funder> <funder>The Mellon Foundation</funder> <funder>National Endowment for the Humanities</funder> </titleStmt> <publicationStmt> <distributor> <name>Bucknell University</name> <address> <street>One Dent Drive</street> <settlement>Lewisburg</settlement> <region>Pennsylvania</region> <postCode>17837</postCode> </address> </distributor> <availability> <licence>Bucknell Heresies Project: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International (CC BY-NC 4.0)</licence> <licence>Heresies journal: © Heresies Collective</licence> </availability> </publicationStmt> <sourceDesc> <biblStruct> <analytic> <title>Patterns of Communicating and Space Among Women</title> </analytic> <monogr> <imprint> <publisher>HERESIES: A Feminist Publication on Art and Politics</publisher> <pubPlace> <address> <name>Heresies</name> <postBox>P.O. Boxx 766, Canal Street Station</postBox> <settlement>New York</settlement> <region>New York</region> <postCode>10013</postCode> </address> </pubPlace> </imprint> </monogr> </biblStruct> </sourceDesc> </fileDesc> </teiHeader> <text> <body> <pb/> <div> <pb n="90" facs="https://leaf.bucknell.edu/sites/default/files/2025-02/heresies02_090.jpg"/> <head>SHE SEES IN HERSELF A NEW WOMAN EVERY DAY</head> <byline>MARTHA ROSLER</byline> <p> I called you today, we spoke a long time, you and I. You were in a good mood, a mellow one. You'd just seen your sister, your brother-in-law was having his eighty-first birthday. Your sister was married to him for 49 years this January. You asked me how my new house was, how my job was, did I have enough money Somewhere in the conversation you said, "After all, you're standing on your own two feet now.... You said it, you said I'm standing on my own two feet.... I remember when I was little, I'd want to stay home from school—I hated the yeshiva, I hated it for eight years, in the fourth grade I said, thank you God, thank you God, only four more years of this I used to want to stay home but you wouldn't let me. Daddy would let me stay home... but he would never want to tell you. He would tell me, "A lie of omission is not the same as a lie of commission. You used to come home from teaching school at three o'clock in the afternoon, but the yeshiva didn't let out until 4:30. You used to come in and go out again because you were very busy —you were a very busy woman — you had a lot to do. So—Daddy had a very simple solution. At five to three I would hide in the closet in my bedroom. He would hide me in the closet. I would hide there until almost four o'clock. I would hide in the closet so you wouldn't know I wasn't in school. The closet had a closet inside it —I know this is very peculiar now, but I didn't know it then. In the front part of the closet were a lot of clothes, and my father's graduation picture, his graduation from law school: St. Lawrence University, Brooklyn Law School, 1932. That meant he went to law school at night. I used to look at his picture in the closet — his diploma too — and wonder why it was there. In the front part of the closet with his picture were a lot of clothes. And in the back, past the first clothes rack, was a smaller closet, a creep-in closet. And in between the two, on a kind of sill, were a lot of shoes, old shoes. Your old shoes. You used to wear really serviceable, cheap shoes when you taught. Every day you wore sensible, cheap, serviceable and sturdy shoes but in the closet there were wonderful shoes —silver dancing shoes with high heels and buckles, silver dancing shoes from the 1920s or 30s, laced with thin silver laces. I used to wonder what they'd be like on your feet —you had such sturdy legs, sturdy, serviceable sensible legs.... I'd hide in the closet, and I'd look at your shoes, and I'd sit down among them and wait for you to walk out the door.</p> <p>You always thought that dressing up was very important. I'm sure you believe that clothes make the man—and the woman—but I always felt that shoes made the woman. You'd always dress me up for photos, in costumes that other people gave you. I always wore everyone else's hand-me-downs, it was such a sensible thing to do. You'd dress me up for photos, I remember. I remember one I still have it, or you do I was wearing a scotch plaid dress, a little blonde jewish girl with a dutch haircut in a scotch plaid dress —you made me hold it out in a semicircle as though I were squaredancing - and on my head was a little scotch cap. I was smiling, Ihad a tooth missing. I was wearing plain brown shoes, laced oxfords. You were not very interested in the shoes I wore for these photos. You always insisted I had to get sensible ones, so my feet would grow right, and I always wore Stride Rite shoes. But once you took me, when I was five or six, to get a pair of mary-janes that had—a buckle. Two buckles —that's it, they had two straps and two buckles. And the two straps lay across my feet like two hard fingers grip- <pb n="91" facs="https://leaf.bucknell.edu/sites/default/files/2025-02/heresies02_091.jpg" /> ping them, in such a way that the bone between them was pressed upward. They pressed on this bone in the most peculiar way and I'd say, "mommy, mommy, mommy —these're, these're pressing on my feet, they're pressing on my feet and my feet are getting to be shaped funny. You said, "No, these shoes are good. They're expensive shoes. These are good shoes. These shoes are good for you. And so I have, on each foot, a bone that protrudes on the top, because of these shoes that pressed my feet into a funny shape.</p> <p>I remember once, the teacher called you from school and said, “Her boots don't fit. And you said, “But they're new boots." But those boots —those boots were someone else's boots, they were hand-me-down boots. I think they were hand-me-down boots, or maybe they were new boots. They were size 8. You always bought me things very large, so I would grow into them. Now you want me to dress my child in enormous clothing, so he'Il grow into it. These boots were size 8. I wore size 4. “Never mind," you said, "you'll grow into them." I wear size 6 today. But you were sure I'd grow into those size 8 red rain boots. The teacher called to say, "She can't walk in her boots, they keep doubling up under her feet every time she takes a step; maybe she's got the wrong boots. You'd better come get her, it's raining out and she needs her boots."</p> <p>There were times that I recall being at your feet, on my hands and knees. From the time I was about 10, you and I used to be alone all week in the country house together, in your sister's country house, while Dad worked in the city. I'd always want to stay up at night and read. I read a lot, I loved to read. It was my one chance for privacy. All day I was away, swimming. I'd swim in the lake from early morning till lunch, hop out, climb up the bank, eat some lunch, and hop back in. Creeping, as it were, past you, doing the crawl. But I'd have to come out at dinner time and endure all through dinner. In the evening I just wanted to read. But you always wanted to go to bed early. There were four bedrooms in the house, but you always insisted that we sleep in the same one, so as not to get the others dirty. You always reminded me that it wasn't our house. So, at about 9:30 or 10 we'd have to get into bed, you into yours and I into mine, and turn out the light and go to sleep. But I'd never be tired. So I'd lie there, and count your breaths: Listen, and listen, and listen and... I'd sli-i-ide down the side of my bed, cre-e-ep on my hands and knees —holding the book, try ing to get out the door and into the bathroom, where I would read by the night light you always left burning. MOST of the time, though, you'd give a start and: "what's that, what's that?" You'd get up, see me, grab me, and knock me around. You used to threaten to get your shoe, but you always made do with your fist, some times you'd choke me a bit. When I got a little older I wasn't so interested in read ing; I'd set my hair every night with bobby pins and little rollers, the way my girlfriend Rosemarie taught me. On warm evenings we'd pretend to take a walk together but really we'd stand by the side of the road, in the driveway, with our chests puffed out and our bellies sucked in, in short shorts and little clingy jerseys, barefoot or in sandals. We'd strike bathing-beauty poses and stand stock-still, waiting for the boys in their low-slung souped-up cars to drive by and whistle and leer and make the sound of kisses. </p> <p> I remember once seeing your shoe, as it came up to hit me in the ear. I was about 17, and I thought you were out of the house. I was on the telephone to my girl friend. She was somebody I liked a lot but I was kind of afraid of her because she went to the High School of Music and Art where I'd wanted to go but you wouldn't let me because it was too far away —and you were probably right — it was too far away — to travel from Brooklyn almost to the Bronx —or so it seemed, that it was too far —anyway, I was on the phone, and I thought you had stepped out, and I was lying on the floor in my room, talking on my phone. It was my phone because once my brother called up to speak to me and Daddy answered the phone and he didn't know who it was, and he said, "Who is this?" and Larry, realizing that he didn't know it was his own son, said, "Is Martha home?" And Dad said, "WHO IS THIS?? WHY DO YOU WANT TO SPEAK TO HER? WHADDOYOU, WHADDOYOU WANT WITH HER?" ...And so Larry got me a phone; he was upset by that kind of behavior. He thought it was an invasion of privacy. I thought it was normal. Anyway...so there I was, on my phone, on my floor, smoking a cigarette. See, that was the kicker —I was smoking a cigarette. I was forbidden to smoke. I can understand, I'm a mother too, that you were protecting my health. Anyway, you came in and you saw me lying on the floor and you kicked me in the head. I'm sure you were aiming at the cigarette, but you got me right in the ear. Luckily, I wasn't deafened. However. I never spoke to that friend again.</p> <p>I used to really believe that shoes made the woman. I would buy a new pair of high-heeled shoes, you know the kind that people —that women — wore when I was growing up, do you remember those? Very high, very high pointy spike heels with pointy toes? And I'd buy 'em and I'd think, “Tonight's the night...a date... romance...dance... and I'd go out. And they'd be fine. They'd be fine for a while and then I'd realize they were pressing on a nerve; they always pressed on a nerve. They were fine in the shoe store, and I always thought, “These are better, these are different, these really feel fine, and I'd make it about, oh, a quarter of the way through the evening and I'd have to take my shoes off. Now, if there's one thing that a woman wasn't supposed to be, it was flat-footed on her own two feet; I mean, flats were for lower-class girls; nobody wore flats. And nobody walked around without their shoes, not if you wanted to keep your reputation. So there I was, spending the evening at a dance without my shoes and having to go home, through the streets of New York City, freezing cold in tattered stockings and I'd say..."I made that mistake again."</p> <p>Cinderella was oppressed; she was treated badly. She was given only crusts and scraps to eat and old cast-offs to wear. Often she had to go without shoes. She had to perform endless household chores. The chill and the lack of food made her light-headed. She was very unhappy and could only escape through daydreams. Nobody thought of training her to be a lady.</p> <p>Her stepsisters were given all the advantages; their every move was scrutinized and corrected, their diets were watched. They had the fanciest clothes, the most fashionable little slippers and boots. Their mother planned to make them ladies who would rise above her own station. When the prince's emissary brought around the mysterious lost slipper, Cinderella's stepmother made her older daughter cut off her heel and her younger daughter cut off her big toe to try to fit the test.</p> <p>This piece was originally presented as a performance.</p> </div> </body> <back> <p>Martha Rosler is an artist living in Encinitas, California, who works with photography, video, texts and postcards. Her book, Service: A trilogy on colonization, is being published by Printed Matter Inc.</p> </back> </text> </TEI>
Tijuana Maid Document <?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><?xml-model href="https://www.tei-c.org/release/xml/tei/custom/schema/relaxng/tei_all.rng" type="application/xml" schematypens="http://relaxng.org/ns/structure/1.0"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" href="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/LEAF-VRE/code_snippets/refs/heads/main/CSS/leaf.css"?><TEI xmlns="http://www.tei-c.org/ns/1.0" xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#"> <teiHeader> <fileDesc> <titleStmt> <title>Tijuana Maid</title> <author>Martha Rosler</author> <respStmt> <persName>Haley Beardsley</persName> <resp>Editor, encoder</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Erica Delsandro</persName> <resp>Investigator, editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Margaret Hunter</persName> <resp>Editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Diane Jakacki</persName> <resp>Invesigator, encoder</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Sophie McQuaide</persName> <resp>Editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Olivia Martin</persName> <resp>Editor, encoder</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Bri Perea</persName> <resp>Editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Roger Rothman</persName> <resp>Investigator, editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Kaitlyn Segreti</persName> <resp>Editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Maggie Smith</persName> <resp>Editor</resp> </respStmt> <respStmt> <persName>Maya Wadhwa</persName> <resp>Editor</resp> </respStmt> <funder>Bucknell University Humanities Center</funder> <funder>Bucknell University Office of Undergraduate Research</funder> <funder>The Mellon Foundation</funder> <funder>National Endowment for the Humanities</funder> </titleStmt> <publicationStmt> <distributor> <name>Bucknell University</name> <address> <street>One Dent Drive</street> <settlement>Lewisburg</settlement> <region>Pennsylvania</region> <postCode>17837</postCode> </address> </distributor> <availability> <licence>Bucknell Heresies Project: Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 4.0 International (CC BY-NC 4.0)</licence> <licence>Heresies journal: © Heresies Collective</licence> </availability> </publicationStmt> <sourceDesc> <biblStruct> <analytic> <title level="a">Juggling Contradictions: Feminism, the Individual and What's Left</title> <author> <surname>Braderman</surname> <forename>Joan</forename> </author> <date when="1977-01">January 1977</date> <textLang xml:lang="eng"/> </analytic> <monogr> <title level="j">Heresies #1: Feminism, Art and Politics</title> <imprint> <publisher ref="https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q20857976">The Heresies Collective</publisher> <pubPlace> <address> <name>Heresies</name> <postBox>P.O. Boxx 766, Canal Street Station</postBox> <settlement>New York</settlement> <region>New York</region> <postCode>10013</postCode> </address> </pubPlace> </imprint> <biblScope unit="issue">1</biblScope> <biblScope unit="page">88-93</biblScope> </monogr> <series> <title level="s">Heresies: A Feminist Publication on Art and Politics</title> <idno type="Wikidata">https://www.wikidata.org/wiki/Q17022558</idno> <idno type="ISSN">0146-3411, 2469-4908</idno> </series> </biblStruct> </sourceDesc> </fileDesc> <xenoData><rdf:RDF xmlns:rdf="http://www.w3.org/1999/02/22-rdf-syntax-ns#" xmlns:rdfs="http://www.w3.org/2000/01/rdf-schema#" xmlns:as="http://www.w3.org/ns/activitystreams#" xmlns:cwrc="http://sparql.cwrc.ca/ontologies/cwrc#" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:dcterms="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" xmlns:foaf="http://xmlns.com/foaf/0.1/" xmlns:geo="http://www.geonames.org/ontology#" xmlns:oa="http://www.w3.org/ns/oa#" xmlns:schema="http://schema.org/" xmlns:xsd="http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#" xmlns:fabio="https://purl.org/spar/fabio#" xmlns:bf="http://www.openlinksw.com/schemas/bif#" xmlns:cito="https://sparontologies.github.io/cito/current/cito.html#" xmlns:org="http://www.w3.org/ns/org#"/></xenoData></teiHeader> <text> <body> <pb n="8" facs="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/djakacki/heresies/refs/heads/main/issue01/images/01_010.jpg"/> <div type="prose"> <head>Tijuana Maid</head> <byline>Mortho Rosler</byline> <note>The third part of a trilogy sent out as postcard novels, that also includes a budding gourmet and McTowers Maid; to be published early 1977 as Service: A trilogy on colonization by Printed Matter Inc., New York.</note> <div type="card" n="1"> <p> Crucé por primera vez cuando tenia 22 anos. Hacía 6 meses que habïa llegado a Tijuana, viniendo de mi pueblo. Como había poco trabajo y mi hermana tenía amigas que estaban trabajando de criadas en San Diego, estaba segura de que sería fäcil arreglarlo. Dejaría a Rosita y Juanito con ella, y ella tambíen my ayudaría a buscar la manera de cruzar la frontera y obtener empleo. Prefiero no discutir los detalles de como llegué aquí. Había unos hombres que me pedían mucho dinero, pero prometían conseguirme empleo muy pronto y luego la tarjeta verde. Pero nunca recibí la tarjeta. Querían $350 por una falsa, pero casi siempre uno no pasa más allá de los inspectores con éstas. Firmé un papel diciendo que les daría la mitad de mi sueldo por 3 meses y entonces me cruzaron. Por todo Tijuana hay hombres con carros americanos, muy lustrosos y bonitos, esperando y prometiendo empleos. Ellos cruzan a cientos, miles de mujeres cada año. No lo sabía entonces. (1)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="2"> <p> Estaba aterrorizada: yo estaba segura de que nos iban a encontrar, también tenía mucho miedo de ir a un país extranjero. Sólo sabía unas pocas palabras de inglés. ¡Qué sola me encontraría, especialmenta sin mis niños! Muchas mujeres cruzan a diario con la mica, una tarjeta para ir de compras solamente. Ellas se toman el Greyhound para el centro de San Diego y de allií se van en un camión urbano a sus trabajos. El Greyhound es muy caro, casi $1. Oí decir a alguien que la ciudad quería poner una ruta por 25 centavos, pero la Greyhound logró que la corte los parara. Si yo cruzara a diario, podría estar con mis niños en las noches, pero las que lo hacen se cansan mucho: trabajan para la patrona todo el día y durante la noche se ocupan de sus familias. En fin, los hombres me dijeron que sólo podía trabajar viviendo con una familia. Me pagarían menos, pero siquiera no cruzaría la frontera, con sus inspectores, a diario. Son impredecibles, como los jaguares; te dejan cruzar a diario, cada semana, y de repente te quitan la tarjeta. (2)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="3"> <p> Los hombres me conseguieron un empleo con una familia muy rica, el patrón era hombre de negocios. La patrona era buena, realmente. Ella me enseño como funcionaban las cosas en su casa y me ayudó con el idioma inglés. Ella me dijo que sólo contaba con que duraría unos 8 meses con ella, lo suficiente para aprender inglés, como vestirme y peinarme para poder conseguir un empleo en una oficina. ¡Estaba tan sorprendida! Sólo le daban gracias a Dios por haberme conseguido empleo. Ellos suponian que trabajaría los 7 días de la semana, pero cuando les conté de Rosita y Juanito ellos me dieron un día y medio de descanso.</p><p> La mujer me dió un libro para que lo estudiara, llamado <title level="m">Home Maid Spanish Cook Book</title>. El libro dice "Our aim is not to teach the Mexican or Spanish speaking maid how to make her own native dishes. She can do that to perfection and without our help. We want to have her help Y O U in the kitchen. To do things Y O U R way" El libro tiene un dibujo de una cocina americana con el nombre de todas las cosas en español. Este libro trae tambíen recetas de comidas típicas americanas, tal como las Hamburguesas, los Hot Dogs, Guisado de Atun, Bistecs, Lomo Asado y Pastel de Manzanas.</p> <p>Te enseñá como hacer botanas para las fiestas de los patrones, como Galletas con Caviar, y tambíen como preparar los tragos. Los favoritos de mis patrones eran Los Martinis y los Old Fashioneds. (3)</p> </div> <pb n="9" facs="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/djakacki/heresies/refs/heads/main/issue01/images/01_011.jpg"/> <div type="card" n="4"> <table> <row> <cell>PEANUT BUTTER & JELLY SANDWICH</cell> <cell>EMPAREDADO DE JALEA Y MANTEQUILLA DE CACAHUATE</cell> </row> <row> <cell>Butter 2 slices of bread. Spread one slice generously with peanut butter and top with a layer of jelly. Cover with remaining slice of bread; cut in half. Serve with a large glass of milk for a hearty lunch.</cell> <cell>Unte de mantequilla 2 rebanadas de pan. Unte generosamente 1 rebanada con mantequilla de cacahuate y luego con la jalea. Cúbrala con la otra rebanada de pan y corte a la mitad (diagonal). Sirva con un vaso grande de leche.</cell> </row> </table> <p>El libro contiene una lista de frases en inglés y en español:</p> <table> <row> <cell>Sweep the kitchen floor.</cell> <cell>Barra el piso de la cocina.</cell> </row> <row> <cell>scrub</cell> <cell>Estregue</cell> </row> <row> <cell>wax and polish</cell> <cell>encere y saque brillo</cell> </row> <row> <cell>We like breakfast served at -----.</cell> <cell>Nos gusto que nos sirva el desayuno a las-----.</cell> </row> <row> <cell>Have you ever shopped in a supermarket?</cell> <cell>Ha ido usted al super-mercado?</cell> </row> </table> <p> etcetera, etcetera, y contiene una frase que oía siempre:</p> <p> Will you cook a Mexican dinner for us sometime? </p> <p>Nos cocina una comida mexicana para nosotros alguna vez? (4)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="5"> <p> Había bastante que hacer, con tres chamacos muy cochinos, la casa grande, y muchas fiestas con bastante de limpiar después. La señora trataba de hablarme en espanol pero su accento estaba tan mal que apenas podía entenderle. El señor casi no me hablaba, nomas para preguntarme de cuándo iba a hacer chile con carne, que no es un platillo mexicano, o para preguntarme cuándo iba a hacerles unos tamales. Me hacía la mal entendida. No me daban ganas de hacer tamales. No esperaba cocinar tanto, pero no iba a durar si me quejaba. Entonces hacía tacos. No sabía que me disgustaba más, si cocinar las comidas americanas tan aburridas que les gustaban, o los tacos una vez a la semana. Mi hermana me platicó de una muchacha de nuestro pueblo que fué llevada a Laguna Beach por una pareja para cuidar sus niños, pero pasaba todo el día limpiando y cocinando. La tenian cocinando platillos mexicanos bastante picantes para sus amigos, luego la sacaban de la cocina para que los amigos la vieran. Estaba muy joven, sola y no podía hablar inglés. Ella se suicidó--claro, se mató.</p> <p>Bueno, mis patrones me dejaban comer lo que yo queria después que ellos acababan, iyo nunca había comido tanta carne en mi vida! Hacía $30 por semana de los cuales la mitad iba a los hombres, mi cuarto era chica y mal aluzado, pero tenía trabajo, y comía a tiempo. (5)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="6"> <p> Hicimos un trato y acabé de pagarles a los hombres. Era verano y los ninos estaban en el campo y la patrona se fué de visita por unos días. Estaba leyendo en mi cuarto una noche cuando tocó el patron la puerts. Le dije que esperara porque tenía que vestirme pero de todos modos entró y se recargó sobre mi. Traté de escapar, me agarrô fuerte y peleamos. Estaba tratando de besarme y me tiró a la cama. Rompió mi ropa interior. Empezó a forzarme pero me zafé y corrí al bano y cerre la puerta con candado. Insistía casi tumbando la puerta y yo comencé a llorar. Aún después de que acabo tenia miedo de abrir la puerta pensando que él podría estar escondido en qualquier parte en el cuarto. Sabía que no tenía esperanza de ayuda con la polecía porque yo era ilegal y porque este tipo de gente tiene plata suficiente para zafarse. Finalmente oí la puerta de enfrente cerrar, el carro prendió y se fué. Salí corriendo a mi cuarto. Recogí todas mi cosas y me fuï. Tome un camión al centro de San Diego y me pase la noche esperando el camion a la frontera.</p> <p>Después de este incidente he conocido a 4 mujeres que han sido violadas por sus patrones, una de ellas salió embarazada. Después de todo tuve suerte. (6)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="7"> <p> Después de un tiempo regresé a San Diego con mi mica. Esta vez sabia buscar en el periódico como encontrar chamba. Obtuve una con un profesor y su esposa en La Jolla. Me pagaban sólo $25 a la semana pero la casa era más chica y sólo 2 ninos siempre se la pasaban enfrente de la televisión. Había muchas estatuas y pinturas, y alfombras lindas y mucho que desempolvar y pasar la aspiradora. Tenían muchas vasijas antiguas de barro y muchas estatuas hechas por los indios de México. La comida era mejor, apreciaban mis comidas mexicanas, asi es que no me estorbaba cocinar tanto. Todos estos gringos quieren comer la comida de los pobres. La esposa se sonreía conmigo, pero me hablaba como que fuera una niña o bien estúpida. También tenían todos los libros de "Spanish Maid."</p> <p>Esta gente era muy mala cuando se trataba de pagarme. Una vez se atrasaron con 5 semanas y cuando les pedí que me pagaron dijeron que no podían porque tenían muchas cuentas. Me enoje y les dije que le iba a hablar a la polecía, que fué ridiculo porque se enojaron y dijeron que le iban a echar la migra. Estaba asustada y dejé el empleo. (7)</p> </div> <pb n="10" facs="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/djakacki/heresies/refs/heads/main/issue01/images/01_012.jpg"/> <div type="card" n="8"> <p> Mi siguiente trabajo también era en La Jolla, con un doctor y su familia, ¡por $55 a la semana! Tenía que cocinar todas las comidas, cuidar a los niños y hacer toda la limpieza y quedarme 7 días de la semana, asi es que no podía ver a mis niños. ¡Gaste bastante de mi dinero llamandoles por telefono! Después de casi un ano oí decir de un señor tal y tal pagaba $35 a la semana para que alguien viviera allí 5 días a la semana. Nos empleó a 2 y hizo arreglos donde comprabamos toda la comida con nuestros sueldos. Le dábamos de comer y limpiábamos para él y sus amigos y además dejaba tener otros trabajos durante el día. Llegué a conocer bastante gente cruel de esta manera. No sé cuales son peores, los que realmente demandan o los que aunque sean buenos creen que nos estan dando limosna. A este tiempo ya tenía fama por hacer buena comida mexicana para fiestas, asi es que hacía además de la limpieza.</p> <p>Pero hace 6 semanas el senor entró al cuarto cuando nos estabamos desvestiendo y nos comenzo a manosear, no salimos y nos movimos a un hotel barato en el centro de San Diego. Hago $100 a la semana cocinando y limpiando para diferente gente, 6 días a la semana. Es muchísimo dinero, pero trabajo muy duro. Y soy independiente. (8)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="9"> <head>Chlles Rellenos con Salsa para una fiesta. </head> <list> <item>30 chiles verdes</item> <item>3 libras de queso fresco</item> <item>1 libra de queso amarillo</item> <item>1 docena de huevos, separados</item> <item>1 taza de pasas</item> <item>harina</item> <item>aceite para freír</item> <item>1 cebolla, picada</item> <item>8 tazas de salsa de jitomate</item> <item>orégano, sal y pimienta</item> <item><hi rend="underline">salsa de jitomate</hi></item> <item>6 libras de jitomates</item> <item>1 libra de pasas</item> <item>libra de almendras, peladas</item> <item>3 dientes de ajo</item> <item>2 onzas de jengibre</item> <item>1 onza de polvo de chile</item> <item>1 libra de azúcar</item> <item>1 cuarto de vinagre</item> <item>sal</item> </list> <p>Ase los chiles sobre el fuego hasta que la piel se desprenda. Envuelva en un trapo por 10 minutos, pélelos. Abralos por un lado, saque las semillas y venas. Deje los tallos. Rellene con queso y pasas. Bata las claras de huevos al punto de merengue. Agregue las yemas y bata hasta que estén espesos. Agregue la sal. Enharine los chiles, páselos por el huevo. Se fríen hasta que estén dorados. Fria las cebollas y la salsa de jitomate preparada anteriormente. Agregue el orégano y la sal y pimienta. Hierva a fuego lento por 5 minutos.</p> <p>(Para preparar la salsa de jitomate, corte los jitomates, agregue un poco de agua, hierva por una 1/2 hora. Pase por un colador. Muela las pasas, almendras, ajos, jengibres y chiles. Agregue a los jitomates. Agregue el azúcar, vinagre, sal. Hierva hasta que espese.) (9)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="10"> <p> Hay una senora en La Jolla que trató de organizar las criadas, cocineras y los jardineros, los legales en el país, porque hacen menos de $2 la hora sin tener seguridad de sus trabajos. Si se llegan a enfermar o los patrones se van de vacaciones no hay trabajo. Hasta he ido a unas de las juntas, aquí es donde llegué a aprender varias cosas. Aprendí que los inspectores ya no pagaban $50 por los mojados y que no les importaban las mujeres, solamente los hombres. Algunos de ellos, mismos tienen criadas ilegales. Aunque asi sea, todos sabemos que por cada una de nosotros hay cienes de gente en México hambreadas y desesperadas que con gusto tomarían nuestro trabajo por la mitad del sueldo. Especialmenta hoy, con tiempos tan malos. Yo sé, yo era una de ellas.</p> <p>Ahora que soy independiente podía haber pasado más tiempo con mis niños pero hace 2 semanas mi temor fué confirmada porque me quitaron mi mica. Nos quitaron 20 o 30 cuando yo estaba hay, todas a la vez, sin preguntar nada. Nos dijeron que nos las iban a regresar después que las chequeaban, pero casi nunca las regresan y ahora son difíciles encontrar. Misti trabajo por días, finalmente les pague $50 a los hombres con carros. Esta vez nos pasaron a varias, una a la vez, de un hombre a otro parados en la frontera. Habían tantas víboras que creía que me iba a picar una antes que acabara de cruzar. (10)</p> </div> <div type="card" n="11"> <p> Ahora busco trabajo con una familia que me deje traer a mis hijos. Sé que haré menos, pero vale la pena. Tengo una amiga que se casó con un gringo que aunque no lo ama, pero él quiere una buena mujer mexicana y cocinera, Prefiero vivir en y él adoptó a su hija. México pero no hay trabajo con que me puedo sorportar con mis hijos. Si encuentro un trabajo en los Estados Unidos donde puedo tener a los niños, no iba a tener que enfrentar los problémas en la frontera. Es sierto que siempre me voy a preocupar de otras cosas, como los cochineros de otra gente, o las senoras que me preguntan a veces en inglés o a veces en español, ¿que si les voy a cocinar una cena mexicana? O también los esposos que no preguntan pero que quieren otras cosas de mí. (11)</p> </div> <pb n="11" facs="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/djakacki/heresies/refs/heads/main/issue01/images/01_013.jpg"/> <div type="annotation"> <p> I first came across when I was 22. It was 6 months since I came to Tijuana from my village. There was little work and my sister had friends who were working as maids in San Diego, and she was sure it would be easy to arrange —I would leave Rosita and Juanito with her and she would help me find out how to get across the border and get a job. I'd rather not discuss the details of how I got here. There were men who demanded a lot of money from me, but they promised to get me a job right away and a green card later. But I never got the card. They wanted $350 for a fake one, but those usually don’t get past the inspectors. I signed a paper saying I would give them half my salary for 3 months, and they took me across. All over Tijuana there are men with beautiful, shiny American cars, waiting, promising jobs. They take hundreds, thousands of women across every year. I didn't know this then. (1)</p> <p>I was terrified — was sure I'd be caught, and I was also very afraid to go to a foreign country. I knew only a few words of English. How lonely I'd be, especially without my kids! Many women cross every day with the mica, a pass only for shopping. They take the Greyhound to downtown San Diego and then take a city bus to work. The Greyhound is very expensive, almost $1. I heard someone say that the city wanted to have a bus to the border for 25¢, but Greyhound got the court to stop them. If I went across every day I could be with my kids at night, but the ones who do that are always tired - working for the patrona all day and caring for their families at night. But anyway, the men said I could only get a job living in with a family. It would pay less but at least I wouldn’t have to pass the border, with its inspectors, every day. They are unpredictable, like aguars; they let you pass every day, every week, and then all of a sudden they take your card away. (2)</p> <p>The men got me a job with a very rich family; the boss was a business executive. The patrona was kind, really. She showed me how things worked in her house and helped me with English. She said she expected that I would only stay about 8 months with her, long enough to learn English and how to dress and do my hair, so I could get an office job. I was so surprised! I was just thanking God to have a job. They expected me to work 7 days a week, but when I told them about Rosita and Juanito they gave me a day and a half off. The woman gave me a book to study called <title level="m">Home Maid Spanish Cook Book</title>. The book said, "Our aim is not to teach the Mexican or Spanish-speaking maid how to make her own native dishes. She can do that to perfection and without our help. We want to have her help Y O U in the kitchen. To do things Y O U R way." The book has drawings of an American kitchen with everything named in Spanish. This book also gives recipes for typical American foods, like Hamburger Sandwiches, Hot Dogs, Tuna Casserole, Steak, Meat Loaf, and Apple Pie. It tells how to make things for the bosses' parties, like Caviar Crackers, and also how to make drinks. My bosses' favorites were Martinis and Old Fashioneds. (3)</p> </div> <div type="translation"> <table> <row> <cell>Peanut Butter & Jelly Sandwich</cell> <cell>Emparedado de Jalea y Mantequilla de Cacahuate</cell> </row> <row> <cell>Butter 2 slices of bread. Spread one slice generously with peanut butter and top with a layer of jelly. Cover with remaining slice of bread; cut in half. Serve with a large glass of milk for a hearty lunch.</cell> <cell>Unte de mantequilla 2 rebanadas de pan. Unte generosamente 1 rebanada con mantequilla de cacahuate y luego con la jalea. Cúbrala con la otra rebanada de pan y corte a la mitad (diagonal). Sirva con un vaso grande de leche.</cell> </row> </table> <p>The book has a list of phrases in English and Spanish, like:</p> <table> <row> <cell>Sweep the kitchen floor.</cell> <cell>Barra el piso de la cocina.</cell> </row> <row> <cell>scrub</cell> <cell>Estregue</cell> </row> <row> <cell>wax and polish</cell> <cell>encere y saque brillo</cell> </row> <row> <cell>We like breakfast served at -----.</cell> <cell>Nos gusto que nos sirva el desayuno a las-----.</cell> </row> <row> <cell>Have you ever shopped in a supermarket?</cell> <cell>Ha ido usted al super-mercado?</cell> </row> </table> <p> etcetera, etcetera, and it has a phrase that I heard often:</p> <p> Will you cook a Mexican dinner for us sometime? </p> <p>Nos cocina una comida mexicana para nosotros alguna vez? (4)</p> <p>There was a lot to do, with three kids messy like pigs, the huge house, and many parties to clean up after. The señora tried to speak to me in Spanish, but her accent was so bad that I could hardly understand her. The señor hardly spoke to me at all, except to ask me when I was going to make chile con carne, which isn’t a Mexican dish, or to ask me when I was going to make them some tamales. I'd pretend I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to make tamales for them. didn’t expect to do so much cooking, but I would not last if I complained. So I made tacos. I don’t know which I disliked more, cooking the boring American foods they loved or the tacos once a <pb n="12" facs="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/djakacki/heresies/refs/heads/main/issue01/images/01_014.jpg"/> week. My sister told me about a girl from our village who was taken to Laguna Beach by a couple to care for their children, but all day they had her cooking and cleaning. They had her cook very spicy Mexican dishes for their friends, and then they would bring her out to show to the guests. She was very young and alone and couldn’t speak English. She committed suicide—she killed herself.</p> <p>Well, my patrones let me eat what I wanted when they were done, and I never ate so much meat in my life! I made $30 a week, half of it went to the men, my room was tiny and badly lit, but I had work, and I was eating regularly. (5)</p> <p>We settled into a routine and I finished paying the men. It was spring and the kids were in camp and the patrona went on a visit for a few days. I was reading in my room one night when the patron knocked on the door. I told him to wait because I had to get dressed but he came in anyway and leaned over me. I tried to escape, he grabbed me and we struggled. He was trying to kiss me and shove me onto the bed. He ripped my underwear. He began to force me but I pulled away and ran to the bathroom and locked the door. He pounded, almost breaking the door and I began to cry. Even after he stopped I was afraid to open the door thinking he could be hidden somewhere in the room. I knew I had no hope of help from the police because I was illegal and because that type of guy has enough money to get himself off. Finally I heard the front door close, the car start up and drive away. I ran to my room. I gathered all my things and ran off. I took a bus downtown and spent the night waiting for the bus to the border.</p> <p>Since that incident I have met four women who were raped by their bosses; one of them was made pregnant. So I was lucky after all. (6)</p> <p>After a while I went back to San Diego with my mica. This time I knew to look in the newspaper to find a job. I got one with a professor and his wife in La Jolla. They paid me only $25 a week but the house was smaller and there were only 2 kids, who spent all their time before the TV. There were many statues and paintings and beautiful rugs and much to dust and vacuum. They had a lot of old pottery and statues made by the Indians of Mexico. The food was better, they appreciated my Mexican food, and so I didn’t mind cooking so much. All these gringos want to eat the food of the poor. The wife smiled at me a lot, but she spoke to me as though I were a child or very stupid. They also had all the "Spanish Maid" books.</p> <p>These people were very bad about paying me. Once they got 5 weeks behind and when I asked them to pay they said they couldn't because they had a lot of bills. I got angry and told them I was going to call the police, which was ridiculous because they got angry and said they were going to call immigration. I was terrified and left the job. (7)</p> <p>My next job was also in La Jolla, with a doctor and his family, for $55 a week! I had to cook all the meals, take care of the kids, do all the cleaning, and stay 7 days a week, so I couldn’t see my kids. I spent so much money calling them on the phone! After almost a year I heard of a Mr. So-and-so who would pay $35 a week for someone to live there 5 days a week. He hired 2 of us and made an arrangement where we bought all the food with our salaries, we fed and cleaned up after him and his friends, and he let us take other jobs during the day. I met some awfully mean people that way. I don’t know which are worse, the ones who are real demanding or the kind ones who think they are giving you charity. By then I had a reputation for making good Mexican food for parties, sol did that as well as cleaning for people.</p> <p>But 6 weeks ago the señor came into our room while we were undressing and started getting fresh, so we left and moved to a cheap hotel downtown. I make $100 a week cooking and cleaning for different people, 6 days a week. That's a lot of money, but I work very hard. And I’m independent. (8)</p> <list> <head>Stuffed Chili Peppers with Sauce for a party</head> <item>30 green chilis</item> <item>3 pounds of cream cheese</item> <item>1 pound of yellow cheese</item> <item>1 dozen eggs, separated</item> <item>1 cup of raisins</item> <item>flour</item> <item>oil for frying</item> <item>1 onion, chopped</item> <item>8 cups of tomato sauce</item> <item>oregano, salt and pepper</item> <item>tomato sauce</item> <item>6 pounds of tomatoes</item> <item>1 pound of raisins</item> <item>½ pound of almonds, blanched</item> <item>3 cloves of garlic</item> <item>2 ounces of ginger</item> <item>1 ounce of dried, ground chilis</item> <item>1 pound of sugar</item> <item>1 quart of vinegar</item> <item>salt</item> </list> <p> Broil the peppers over the fire until the skin blisters. Wrap them in a cloth for 10 minutes, then peel them. Slit one side, remove seeds and veins. Leave the stems. Stuff them with cheese and raisins. Beat the egg whites until they are thick. Add the yolks and beat again until they are fluffy. Add the salt. Dredge the chilis and dip them in the egg. Fry them until they are golden. Fry the onion and add the tomato <pb n="13" facs="https://raw.githubusercontent.com/djakacki/heresies/refs/heads/main/issue01/images/01_015.jpg"/> sauce you have prepared earlier. Add the oregano and the salt and pepper. Cook over a low flame for 5 minutes.</p> <p>(To make the tomato sauce, cut up the tomatoes, add a little water, cook for ½ hour. Put through a sieve. Grind the raisins, nuts, garlic, ginger, and chilis. Add to the tomatoes. Add sugar, vinegar, salt. Cook until thick.) (9)</p> <p>There is a woman in La Jolla who tried to organize the maids, cooks, and gardeners, the legal ones, because even they make less than $2 an hour without any job security. If they get sick or their bosses go on vacation there is no work. I have even gone to some of their meetings, and it was there that I found out various things. earned that the inspectores no longer pay $50 for information about illegals and that they do not care about the women, only the men. Some of them have illegal maids themselves. But even so, we all know that for each one of us there are hundreds of hungry and desperate people in Mexico who would gladly take our jobs for half the pay. Especially now, with such hard times. I was one of them. </p><p>Now that I’m independent I could have spent more time with my kids but two weeks ago my big fear was realized because they took away my mica. They took 20 or 30 away from us while I was there, all at once, without asking any questions. They said we would get them back after they were checked, but almost never are they returned and now they are hard to get. I missed work for days, and finally I paid $50 to those men with cars. This time they passed a bunch of us, one at a time, from one man to the other along the border. There were so many snakes that I thought I'd get bitten before I made it across. (10)</p> <p>Now I'm looking for a job with a family that will let me bring my kids. I know I'll make less, but it's worth it. I have a friend who is marrying a gringo she does not love, but he wants a good Mexican wife and cook, and he will adopt her daughter. I would rather live in Mexico but there is no work by which I can support myself and my kids. If I get a job in the U.S. where I can keep my kids I won’t have to face the border troubles. It is true I will still have the other things to worry about, like other people’s messes, or the señoras who ask me, sometimes in English and sometimes in Spanish, am I going to cook them a Mexican dinner? Or like their husbands, who don’t ask but who wish to get from me something else. (11)</p> </div> <div> <p>Bien Cocina la moza, pero mejor la bolsa.</p> <p>(The maid cooks well, but the pocketbook cooks better.)</p> <p>— Mexican saying, quoted in <title>Elena's Mexican Cookbook</title></p> <table> <row> <cell>TITLE:</cell> <cell>Tijuana Maid food novel</cell> <cell>3</cell> </row> <row> <cell>COST: </cell> <cell>postcards: paper</cell> <cell>$10.77</cell> </row> <row> <cell/> <cell>postage</cell> <cell>$300.</cell> </row> <row> <cell/> <cell>printing:</cell> <cell>$20.</cell> </row> <row> <cell/> <cell>miscellaneous:</cell> <cell>$5.</cell> </row> </table> <p>11 units, run of approx. 350; originally printed by the artist on ElectroGestetner and by Moonlite Blueprint, La Jolla. Orig. cost, about $1/set.</p> <p>SOURCES: Women's stories as represented in articles by Laurie Becklund in the San Diego Evening Tribune of Oct. 10 & 11, 1973; talks with Josefina Foulks, Laurie Becklund, Cecilia Duarte, Iris Blanco & others on both sides of the mistress-servant relationship, some of whom can’t be named; many "Mexican" cookbooks for Americans among them George Booth's <title level="m">Food & Drink of Mexico</title> and Elinor Burt's <title>Olla Podrida</title>; and of couse, <title level="m">Home Maid Spanish</title> and <title>Home Maid Spanish Cook Book</title>.</p> <p>ATTRIBUTIONS: Margaret Storm & Elsie Ginnett, <title level="m">Home Maid Spanish Cook Book</title>, Apron Pocket Press, La Jolla, 1968.</p> <p>Homage to Ousmane Sembene's film <title>Black Girl</title> (Senegal, 1966).</p> <p>Translated with Oscar Chavez, Victor Zamudio, and Norma Quintero-Peters; and Cecilia Duarte, Alda Blanco, Iris Blanco and Esther Guerrero-Catarrivas.</p> <p>"Recent converts to the Chicano movement, like gringos, want to learn tortilla making from a cookbook recipe. Impossible!"—Jose Angel Gutierrez, <title level="m">Gringo Manual on How to Handle Mexicans</title>.</p> </div> </div> </body> <back> <p> Martha Rosler is an artist living in Encinitas. She writes: "I grew up in Brooklyn, in a lower-middle-class milieu. I have lived in Manhattan and, for most of the past 8 years, in California. Much of my work centers on women's roles and occupations, particularly on how consciousness and language reflect social circumstance. I have paid special attention to the use of food in the context of affluent bourgeois culture, looking at the producers as well as the consumers. I work with video, photos, texts, and film; I do some critical writing and I teach movie and photo criticism." </p> </back> </text> </TEI>
