Chicanonautica: Bharat, Aztlán, and Other Places, Real and Imaginary

by Ernest Hogan

New words. I keep learning them all the time. With new words come new worlds. They change your perceptions and conceptions. That’s why language is always an issue. 

I learned a new one recently: Bharat. It’s what they call that subcontinent that the Anglos have been making us all call India for the last few centuries. It’s been around for millennia. Somehow, it’s taken me sixty-seven years to learn it. 

Empires die, but their symptoms live on.

In Bharat, it and India are used interchangeably. Right-wing factions want to go back to the Sanskrit original name. Of course, it’s sending out shockwaves.

Changing names changes things. As a Chicano trickster satirical science fiction writer, I mess around with names, it’s fun, and a special sort of magic.

I renamed the Pacific Northwest Sasquatchlandia after visiting it. 

The old name and my old conceptions didn’t fit my newfound knowledge and experience.

I call the region where I live Aztlán. No, I am not part of a separatista movement to secede from the United States of Norteamerica (Would it even be possible? I should ask a lawyer sometime . . .), I just don’t see my homeland as afar-flung southwestern quadrant of an empire that rotates on a Nueva York/Washington D.C. axis, and I recognize and respect our ancient civilizations and their modern manifestations.

My life, and writing, is richer for it.

Now, India is in a position to become its own Aztlán. Decolonization happens, cabrones.

This will not just change perceptions and conceptions in Bharat, but all over the planet.

Take the controversial word Indian . . .

 

It’s universally used and catch-all term for brown-skinned peoples who are not considered civilized. Similar to the way Martian is used for people from other planets.

 

What if, through the magic of bureaucracy (we all know how powerful that is) India ceases to exist with the right sequence of keyboard strokes—what we used to call “paperwork.” Poof! No more India, only Bharat.

What about all the brown-skinned who have had the label Indian inflicted on them all these centuries? Without an India, can there be such a thing as Indians?

Can we imagine a world where there is no such thing as an Indian?

All around the planet, people will have to be redefined. A lot of us will have to redefine ourselves. Come on over, baby, there’s a whole lot of transmogrification going on!

New words. New worlds. Probably chaos. Bureaucrats, keepers of political correctness, and those who worry about cultural appropriation will be horrified. The electronic paperwork will take generations.

And someday, for good or ill, whether anybody likes it or not, will people be born on Mars. Wonder what they will call themselves?

The ancient trickster, deep inside me, smiles, with sharp teeth.

Ernest Hogan, the Father of Chicano Science Fiction, has been an Indian, a Negro, and “stupid fucking white person” from time to time. Watch for his new story collection: Pancho Villa’s Flying Circus & Other Fictions.