In Bodega Dreams, author Ernesto Quiñonez underscores the oppression that Latinx immigrants face in the United States. The central backdrop of Quiñonez’s story is a vibrant but deeply disenfranchised immigrant community in Spanish Harlem, a neighborhood in New York City. The neighborhood is populated with the children and grandchildren of immigrants, who fled political unrest in Puerto Rico and Cuba in the 1950s, hoping for better lives in the United States. Through narrator Julio, a young college student from Spanish Harlem, Quiñonez argues that systemic barriers—in schools, media, and politics—marginalize the Latinx community, largely condemning them to lives of poverty and petty crime. The elite’s oppressive practices in the United States effectively deny Latinx people empowerment and freedom—both in the slums of Spanish Harlem and in their homelands, which suffer under the legacy of colonial rule. Quiñonez thus uses the setting of Bodega Dreams to stress how strongly systemic barriers to opportunity stunt disenfranchised people’s potential to realize their personal dreams.
Julio argues that white teachers in his school undermine immigrant students and make them believe they have no culture or prospects, ultimately demotivating students to stay in school. Julio reflects that “to the white teachers, we were all going to end up delinquents” which makes the students feel like getting educated is a futile effort. Julio’s best friend, Sapo, embodies the disillusionment among Latinx children when he reflects that “Mr. Blessington told me I was going to end up in jail, so why waste my time doing homework?” Julio’s teachers largely privilege white culture and teach the kids about places like Italy while deriding the intellectual contributions of Latinx scholars and artists, which makes the children feel “almost convinced that our race had no culture” and prompts them to believe that bettering themselves is pointless. Mr. Blessington, a racist English teacher, dismisses Puerto Rican poet Julia du Burgos’s poetry as “obscure” and irrelevant, even though the school is named after du Burgos. Julio notes that the immigrant teachers work hard to empower the immigrant students, knowing that “you can’t pass a test if you already feel defeated”—but they have no real power in the school system, which limits their ability to combat systemic oppression in schools. After an altercation between Sapo and Mr. Blessington, an immigrant teacher named Mr. Tapia urges Sapo to pretend he is emotionally disturbed to avoid being expelled, knowing that Mr. Blessington has too much power in the school for anyone to believe he provoked Sapo. Sapo eventually drops out of school and starts dealing drugs. His trajectory into adulthood reflects how the racism of teachers like Mr. Blessington leaves students disillusioned about their prospects, despite the support of well-meaning but marginalized immigrant teachers like Mr. Tapia.
Julio also argues that depictions of Latinx people in the media and news cycle sensationalize Spanish Harlem’s residents as violent thugs. Julio implies that the depiction of Latino men in films like West Side Story reinforces the false image of Latino boys as inherently “violent, with switchblade tempers.” Similarly, the media only covers events in Spanish Harlem when violence is involved, further adding to the conception of Latinx people as violent. Julio’s apartment is set on fire during a turf war between mafia bosses, leaving the residents homeless—yet the media relegates this news to a “footnote” because nobody dies, meaning they can’t sensationalize the violence in the neighborhood.
The story’s antihero—an idealistic ex-activist named Bodega who’s turned to crime to realize his goal of empowering Spanish Harlem—argues that legislators at City Hall have oppressed the neighborhood for years by denying its residents crucial funding for sanitation and social services. Bodega recalls that the city’s legislators largely ignored his repeated efforts to file paperwork requesting better sanitation, education, and social programs in Spanish Harlem. Bodega explains that when the Young Lords (his former local activist group) took it upon themselves to clean up the neighborhood and protect the residents from crime, the city sent the police to arrest the group for civil disobedience, thus further disempowering the community. Quiñonez subtly implies here that life in Spanish Harlem—which is full of residents who pay taxes but receive few resources in return and lack political advocates—mirrors the social and political landscape of Puerto Rico. Puerto Rican immigrants who come to the U.S. seeking opportunity, then, are seemingly no better off in places like Harlem than they would be in their home country due to the systemic oppression they face in America.
For the United States, Puerto Rico is an unincorporated territorial possession: the government treats it as part of the United States and demands taxes from the residents. Yet the government also treats Puerto Rico as a somewhat separate entity that receives fewer resources, much like the way New York city politicians treat Spanish Harlem. In obstructing efforts to improve the community, city legislators effectively turn Spanish Harlem into a burned-out, crime-ridden wasteland that’s ripe for plucking disillusioned young children out of school and into a life of crime. Quiñonez thus shows that immigrants who seek a better life in the United States face substantive systemic oppression that denies them a chance to better their lives, thus reinforcing cycles of crime and poverty across generations.
Latinx Immigrants and Broken Dreams ThemeTracker
Latinx Immigrants and Broken Dreams Quotes in Bodega Dreams
So, since we were almost convinced that our race had no culture, no smart people, we behaved even worse. It made us fight and throw books at one another, sell loose joints on the stairways, talk back to teachers, and leave classrooms whenever we wanted to.
Nor were they violent, with switchblade tempers.
“The next day we went to City Hall and filed our demands. And you know what happened the next month, Chino? […] The next month, they hiked the subway fare from twenty-five cents to thirty-five cents. […] So we waited, and we waited, and we filed and we filed. Finally, when we knew our demands weren't going to be met, when we knew […] the sanitation department wouldn't even lend us brooms to clean our streets, we had no choice but to take over the streets of East Harlem.”
“[…] Mr. Blessington told me I was going to end up in jail, so why waste my time doing homework?”
Julia-day-Burgos is so obscure it would be hard to find a single poem of hers. In any language.
With her light skin, semiblond hair, pale seagull blue eyes, she could easily pass herself off as something other than a woman born and raised in East Harlem. She spoke as if she had spent her formative years in some boarding school, walking around with a big lettered sweater tied around her shoulders.
All I understood was that Bodega was in trouble. Not with the fire department, which would know right away it was arson and dismiss it as another case of pyromania in a neighborhood crawling with fire-bugs. Nor with the media, who needed sensation and since no deaths had occurred would give it only passing mention, like a footnote in a thousand-page book.
That night Sapo dropped me off at one of the new-old buildings Bodega had renovated on 116th and Lexington. Those buildings had been condemned for years. The City of New York takes so much time to either renovate or bulldoze a condemned building it’s like those guys on Death Row who die of old age rather than execution. Bodega had bought the entire row from the city and had slowly renovated three of them. He had improved the block. Improved the neighborhood. Given people a place to live.
The captain talked as if he were bored; it was all a formality, something he had done too many times and could do in his sleep.
“Let’s not say anything right now, okay? I’m going to be staying at Mami’s for a while. At least until the baby is born. I think that's best. Best for both of us.”
I would never have guessed he was Latin. He was more American than Mickey Mouse and just as old.
Everyone was there like in some pageant for a dying monarch. And to pass the hours on fire, Bodega tales began winding around the avenue. Almost everyone had one, and those that didn’t added to the tales by retelling them.