Salutation to all Latinos, Hispanics and other Americanos

I look in wonder at this America of ours stretching from here to the very end of the world, all the way from the cold white North (with the frozen eskimo pie) to the mythical Tierra de Fuego, that far away frontier where (according to a poet friend) a short, stocky, dark skinned guy with shaggy jet black hair and sporting a colorful alpaca poncho points South and states in a beautifully accented Spanish that “down that way there is no more world.”

I envision a place populated by color and texture: Boricuas, Quisqueyanos, Guajiros, Gauchos, Charros, Amazones, Jíbaros, Cariocas, Negros, Cholos, Indios, Serranos, Nicos, Mapuches, Paisas, Rolos, Corronchos, Ñaños, Chapines, Mambises (you add your own). Among them all I feel at home, unlike the friend who jockingly states that he feels like “at the casting call for Apocalypto.”

But I definitely do not see any Beaners, Wet Backs, Greasers or Spicks, nor do I see any Gringos. I do not see an undocumented alien, but an adventurer in search of the American dream, and, where many see a lowly servant, I see a hard worker, I see hope, dignity and I see glory.

Here we are: the Hispanics, the Latinos and all other Americanos sharing the land and hoping for the best. We are here, we are present, and it can’t be denied.

But, what are we?

Are we the open Pampa lashed by the dry winds of winter, the high Andean peaks defiying the horizon, the fragile green of the shrinking Amazon forrest? Are we the fabled once mil vírgenes, stringed across the Caribbean to cushion the blow of the Conquest and all its consequences? Or are we that sliver of land in Panama allowing two oceans to touch, although so briefly?

Are we the slaves dragged here against our will? Are we the plantation, the hacienda? Are we the modern metropolis, the dreams of a developing country or the decaying old city, the crumbling forts, the ancient temples? Are we that promise of prosperity that lays somewhere West of us (the myth of El Dorado) or North of us (the myth of El Mighty Dollar)? Are we the music, the food, the language, the sweat, the blood and the dreams?

Are we those things that makes us different or the ones we share in common? Call me the optimist and sign me in for the later.

I am a romantic, a poet of sorts in this new age of technology. And I am here on an important mission: to make sure that the world wide web is good for something, besides being the lair of the home-made-movie craze, the sexual predator, the virtual dating scene and the venue for the always annoying and unsolicited promotions for penis enlargement pills and all the other assortment of remedies for erectile dysfunction.

Latino to the Max pretends to take full advantage of this new media, one that easily stretches from here to the farthest reaches of this big, blue and marvelous globe, with the magic of a simple click.

Lets open up a dynamic dialog among all Latinos, state in orderly discussion what we like and dislike, what we long for, what we ambition in life… and have fun doing it. It is not hard to embrace so many hermanos, more than 400 million strong (and growing), when the embrace is a virtual one and produces a possitive effect.

We are not here to read my daily banters about how much life sucks (even when it does sometimes), I will not talk about girlfriends and money (or their lack thereof) and, of course, we will not be looking foward to the latest Paris Hilton scandal (even thougth there is an intereresting take on the state of affairs of our great nation, but that is another story).

Art is the best and the loudest way of announcing our presence, highlighting our contributions and establishing our presence. Art is the best form of colonialism (payback time), the best way to plantar bandera, that is undeniable and I am all out to highlight our art, in all its manifestation, and be critical about it.

It is exciting to set out on such a journey, one that we hope will be a long and enjoyable trek of discovery. And is not devoid of a little fear that I set out on this new venture, it is my big bald head up here and I do take full reponsibility for all I say.

All literary journeys, particularly any attempt to place the wonders of our daily life within the realm of the writen word is a trek that goes in instead of out. And both experiences, life and literature, are so rich and full of feelings and substance, promises for a long, lasting and interesting voyage.

Opening the means of comunication is the first step towards understanding, the second step is to turn this into a real dialog, so… let me hear from you.