Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodríguez: From ‘Imposter’ to Activist

Author Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodríguez began her book talk by setting expectations for the packed room: “I’m going to tell you stories. I think that’s a way better way to spend our time together.” Resisting that “these spaces make you prove that you’re smart enough, that you’re competent” by “[sitting] a little straighter” or “standing at a pulpit like some preacher telling you what to do,” she would remain seated and speak frankly.

“I’m going to talk to you like I talk to mi mami. She’s in every room I speak in. She didn’t finish college. It’s important that she understands what I’m doing – even though she doesn’t agree with it – [as] if she’s seated right there with somebody translating in her ear. ‘Cause if your stuff isn’t accessible to the poor and the uneducated, then it is neither radical nor revolutionary.”

Rodríguez’s October 4 talk was the second in the new Perspectives of Inclusion lecture series, and was held in celebration of Hispanic and Latine Heritage Month. It was preceded the week before by a group discussion of her book, “For Brown Girls with Sharp Edges and Tender Hearts: A Love Letter to Women of Color.”

Her highly personal and contextualized perspective of the trajectory of academic success evoked laughter, tears, and a standing ovation from the audience of YSM staff, faculty, and students.

Prisca Dorcas Mojica Rodríguez is a Nicaraguan-American author, first-generation college student, and activist known for her work on intersectional feminism and race. The founder of Latina Rebels, she empowers women of color with the tools and knowledge they need to embrace their identities and find success on their own terms.

Born to Nicaragua, Rodríguez’s family migrated to Miami, which she reported was three-quarters Latine, and settled in the Pequeña Nicaragua neighborhood. She said, “Living in the US is like Nicaragua but with AC and hot water. … My parents don’t speak English, still, because they don’t have to … [except when] dealing with government agencies.” Her father was the pastor of their Penacostal church, so at home and at church, Rodríguez reflected the family’s sense of tradition, respect for authority, and religious piety. Academics were not emphasized at home, but at school, she could be her “rambunctious” self and a student of fitting into American culture.

In her large high school, most students were Latine and first-generation, and they aimed for elite colleges. In junior year, Rodríguez suddenly realized that her grades were too low, and “there was too much to catch up on.” She noticed that during lunch, most kids got attention from the Army recruiters, but the AP students met with the college recruiters. She signed up for six AP classes, and to get past the guidance counselor’s roadblocks, she mistranslated the counselor’s meeting with her mother, until they both agreed with Prisca’s plan. In the AP courses, she got the help she needed and was the first in her family to attend a four-year college.

Rodríguez attended Florida International University, the largest Hispanic Serving Institution (HSI) in the country, and thrived. She was an English literature major in the honors college, won scholarships, joined numerous clubs, and earned extra money writing papers because she could guarantee a good grade. Towards senior year, she started to realize that a bachelor’s degree would not be enough to earn a good living so she pursued graduate school.

Rodríguez prepared to convince her parents. She looked for a school that didn’t require a GRE, and landed on Vanderbilt Divinity School, because it involved BBible study, which she knew her parents would approve of, and the name “sounded fancy.” Her mother required her to be married, so Rodríguez arranged to marry her boyfriend just in time to matriculate. The new couple moved to the campus and experienced the culture shock of arriving during Nashville’s July 4 celebrations.

This was her first experience with a PWI (predominantly white institution), and “the microaggressions were immediate,” including a library patron saying, “Welcome to America!” and people rubbing her skin, fascinated by her color. Rodríguez maintained her confidence until her first grad school paper came back “bleeding red,” marked with a giant D, and a note to visit the writing center.

The transition from a state school to private institution was shocking. “It was like they put all the students who set the curve into one room, and turns out I was the lowest of the curve.” She told herself, “I got married to be here, so I can’t fail.”

The writing center, located in the center of campus, sent her away because her writing errors were typical of ESL (English as a second language). Rodríguez trekked to the international student center, located in a basement in a remote part of campus. They also sent her away, since her writing was proficient.

She went into a panic and rushed across the campus, into her program’s admissions office. She confronted the director, “Why would you admit me into an institution that structurally was going to set me up for failure?” The director was shocked, as no one had ever shared this sort of encounter with her. Rodríguez came to learn that many other students had the same experience but blamed themselves. Many professors of color heard of what happened — and despite being already overworked with mentoring and serving on committees — they wanted to help. One of those professors helped Rodríguez to understand that the two writing mistakes that earned her a D were, transposing the noun and verb (as in Spanish grammar), and using MLA instead of Chicago style.

In another instance, a professor openly laughed at her for mispronouncing a word, which taught her to never again ask a question. “It gets at your core. You’re in school fighting everyone and trying to prove yourself.”

“[Academic] programs flip your reality. They break you down and remold you to their image.” After a divorce, she started going home more often, and behaving arrogantly, “the way the school wants you to act … ‘I am a gift to society.’” She would watch TV with her father and lecture him about machismo in the programs. Her mother sat her down and said, “I’m not stupid. I don’t know why you’re talking to me like I am.”

This moment “snapped me out of” a mode of fighting — at school and at home — and “displacing myself all the time.” She realized that her mother was a “fountain of knowledge and wisdom I was taught not to respect.”

Rodríguez learned about systemic racism in her graduate program, but she could not absorb the lessons for herself. She began writing “to keep me from drowning,” about experiences like, “three out of the four years at Vanderbilt, friends ‘dressed as me’ for Halloween.”

Rodríguez read from her book:

“Your feelings of displacement mean that these institutions were never built to include you. … They were not built … for you to have more opportunities. And they rely on your complicity, so don’t play nice. Shine despite them. Use them because they are actively using you.

“Remember that we have been outshining and outliving their low expectations for some time now, and it their strategy … to keep us quiet.

“Remember that we need to make demands and defend our humanity. … There are systems in place … meant to keep people like me busy, docile, and quiet. … You deserve to make demands of your schools, workplaces, governments, and institutions, for all of us.”

The talk ended with a long standing ovation, expressions of gratitude from the audience who resonated deeply with her memoire, and a long queue for book signings.

This Perspectives of Inclusion lecture was sponsored by, and organized by members of, the YSM Diversity Advisory Council, the YSM Office of Diversity, Equity & Inclusion, and the Yale Child Study Center.