Documentary Victoria Santa Cruz - Portraits Part 1

Translated to English from Spanish beginning at 2:03

Translation begins at 2:03

I am from the decade of the 20s, the old testament, as i like to say! Those years of my childhood were very difficult because discrimination then was more marked than it is now. Now it is more subtle, however there is always discrimination. Regardless, here I would like to start by sharing that I was born in the neighborhood of la Victoria, Sebastian Barranca 435.

Text appearing in video: This is where we were born (the last four Santa Cruz children: Consuelo, Toya, Nico, and Rafito.)

I was sleeping before I woke up to a party in the alley, a jarana, bursts of voices, guitar, and cajón. It was like being in paradise. 

When we were small my father would have us listen to this incredible music like Mozart, like Hadyn, like Handel, like Wagner. And sometimes we would begin to hum something, and he would call us and say, “See this is hum-hum-humming.” Then my mother would come. That woman was saintly, with incredible intuition and strength. She would say to us, “If you don’t have dignity, then go outside and let yourself be hit by a car.” It sounds like a horrible thing, but it helped us a lot to stand on our feet. She had a beautiful contralto voice, and when she would wash, she would sing tonderos and fuse limeñas like zamacueca and serranitos. She would also sing décimas, and we would listen to her. All of that helped us grow and we learned what tradition was by singing décimas and counterpoint. All of it was beautiful.

Text appearing in video: On Sundays and Mondays we would get together to make rhythms, while the older folk would stay to listen and enjoy.

With my studies at the time…discrimination was very marked. I don't want to be plaintive, I want to say things as they are. It was sad.

I remember it because I was the first one, and so I had to put forth a great deal of effort so that it wouldn’t overcome me. I would get very frustrated during those moments, though eventually I would find a way to move forward.

There were some that had to do high school with a teacher at home, because it was very difficult for a black boy or black girl to be in a particular school.

If the discrimination of a black person by a white person is sad, and of a native person by a white person is too, yet sadder is the discrimination of a black person by another black person, of a native person by another native person—and it exists too.  And so there is something we need to discover: Who are we? Why does race exist? If the answers are unknown, then with what right do some claim, ‘I am superior and this person is inferior?’  Why does one person claim the right to say so, and why does the other accept it?

I am going to share something that is related, for those who have heard my poem Me Gritaron Negra. It is related to something that happened to me when, as I say in my poem, I was barely seven or five years of age. There in La Victoria, where I lived, in Sebastian Barranca, all of the girls were mestizas and I was the only black girl. I remember a very white family (the little girl was a gringuita) moved into the neighborhood. And when I went out to play, the gringuita looked at me and said, “if that black girl plays, I’m leaving.” Well, I thought, This one just got here and she’s already making rules? Imagine my surprise when my friends said to me, “Go away Victoria.” Ha! Being stabbed is a caress compared to what happened to me. I didn’t know I was black. When I say I didn't know, I’m not speaking of the color, but rather of the implication. They tossed me aside, and it was very painful. A terrible sense of revenge was born in me, because from that moment on I began to hate—to hate! If someone would have given me a machine gun, I was going to kill whites. In reality, no one gave me one. But what happened? What happened? This is why I say what I say; this is why I repeat myself. There were moments where I said that I would keep living and growing—and I would say, look how strong I am because I hate! But the thing was, there was something inside me that also said nothing, and so I knew I was lying.  

And so I know who I am; today no one can insult me. And today I know what to share;  today I know we have a commitment! The commitment starts with oneself. One who is not loyal to oneself, cannot be loyal to anyone.

Now we are going to skip forward, because if not, well..you’ll say this is all very interesting, but that is the past, is it not? Well, let's skip forward. 

In 1958 Nicomedes was already very well known. There was a program on national radio that was called Fin de Semana en el Perú. And so Nicomedes would recite his décimas. There came a moment where he said to me, “Hey Victoria, I would like to make some stamps of Old Lima with pregones, with refrains, with songs. Would you be interested in collaborating with me? Could you?” And curiously, It so happened that I had been ready all along, and without even knowing it. And so I didn’t do anything but say, “well, now is the time!”

…And there was Vicente Vasquez, Aberlado Vasquez, Ronaldo Campos, Teresa mendoza…

End of Victoria Santa Cruz’s responses in part 1/3 of this documentary.