I am the daughter of a Mexican-American woman & a Haitian-American man. Growing up, I spent time with both sides of my family, and with them I became familiar with my cultural sounds & smells: The euphoric sounds of Haitian Kompa at family parties, where I would indulge in plates of Griot, plantains with pikliz, & diri kolé, hoping that I wouldn’t bite into a piece of jirof (clove). Growing up celebrating Christmas at midnight on Christmas Eve with my Mexican side. Being awoken on Saturday mornings to an aroma of Fabuloso & my mother blasting Selena or Aventura. Lyrics of Sweet Micky’s “I Don’t Care” ring in my memories of my father introducing me to Haitian artists as an adolescent. My mother comforted me with a warm bowl of Caldo de pollo (chicken soup) whenever I got sick. My father tested me on my broken Creole well into my teenage years. My life has been a beautiful combination of both of my cultures. My parents always made sure that I knew who I was & that I was proud of being Afro-Latina. This is who I am, this is my identity, but I have veered away from sharing it as I’ve grown older.
“How are you Latina if you’re black?” “You’re a lot darker than your mom.” “Say something in Spanish, then.” “You don’t look Hispanic at all.” These are common responses people make when I share that I am Afro-Latina. Most of the time I hear these things from other non-black Latinos. I know that most of the time they don’t have any malicious intent when they say these things, but after years of constantly having to prove yourself, it becomes disheartening. Eventually, I came to accept that it only mattered that I knew who I was & that I continued to be proud of my heritage despite the ignorance of others. Another Afro-Latina, Lala Anthony, shared this same sentiment in an interview she did on the Jason Lee show:
“How are you Latina if you’re black?” “You’re a lot darker than your mom.” “Say something in Spanish, then.” “You don’t look Hispanic at all.” These are common responses people make when I share that I am Afro-Latina. Most of the time I hear these things from other non-black Latinos. I know that most of the time they don’t have any malicious intent when they say these things, but after years of constantly having to prove yourself, it becomes disheartening. Eventually, I came to accept that it only mattered that I knew who I was & that I continued to be proud of my heritage despite the ignorance of others. Another Afro-Latina, Lala Anthony, shared this same sentiment in an interview she did on the Jason Lee show:
“There was a time in my life, being that I am Afro-Latina, Puerto Rican people would be like, no you’re not Puerto Rican enough, you’re more black than you’re Puerto Rican. So I would experience that from time to time to the point that like people don’t even know I speak Spanish fluently. I just kind of shied away from it because people would say oh you don’t look like the typical Puerto Rican. Then I just learned to embrace it.”
The refusal of some Latin Americans to accept Afro-Latinos or even accept the fact that they themselves may be Afro-Latino comes from a hatred of blackness rooted deep in colonialism. Spaniards established a caste system that ranked people based on their race during colonial times, placing black people at the bottom. Terms like “Mejorar la raza'' (improve the race), encouraging Latinos not to procreate with those of a darker complexion, or “Pelo malo” (Bad hair), referring to textured hair, are a direct result of anti-blackness within the Latino community. This also translates into modern day Latin America through the erasure of Afro-Latinos in the media despite the significant contributions Afro-Latinos have made to the culture. In the Heights, released in 2021, was scrutinized for not having enough Afro-Latino leads and mainly representing lighter skinned Latinos, similar to the many novelas that only cast lighter skinned Latinos. Haiti can be counted as an example as well. Even though it is very connected to the rest of Latin America historically, geographically & culturally many are quick to exclude Haiti because it is a country with deep African roots composed primarily of visibly black people. Both situations are reflective of Eurocentric beauty standards found in Latin America that praise Latinos with lighter skin, fine features, and straight hair.
Another lesson my parents taught me, arguably the most important one, was that I was black before anything else. That no matter what my cultural background might be, I would go through life being discriminated against because of my complexion. Being black is something I was never & will never be ashamed of. Some cannot fathom a brown skinned black girl being a part of Latinidad, but here I am. And I am not alone. Afro-Latinos are a growing demographic & we will continue to prove our importance as representatives of the intersection between being Black & Latino. Whether it is through popular music like Reggaetón or sports where Afro-Latinos dominate like baseball, you cannot look at Latin America today without seeing what Afro-Latinos have contributed. Some of the most influential people of our time were Afro-Latino: Jean Michel-Basquiat, Mariah Carey, Celia Cruz, Roberto Clemente, and Pelé all played a part in shaping the world into what it is today. Like the ones who came before me, I will continue to proudly represent my community & be Afro-Latina.
