About This Platform : Embracing My Story

I’ve come across the controversy of Dominicans and their place in race in the United States many times. Every time Dominican Independence Day comes around, every time a racist incident occurs amongst Dominicans that stirs conversation, and every time my sister is inspired to remind our family about our Black roots.

I was never afraid to embrace my blackness. I was always happy about it. It made me feel included. I always felt that Dominican culture was beautiful and I was always thankful for our ancestors for making it what it is. But I often felt a disconnect with openly saying I’m Black because of the difference between the mixtures of my background and the way I look. My background says I’m Black but my skin tone says I’m white.

So what am I?

Truthfully, I still don’t know the answer to this question. The more I speak to people, the more we come to an agreement that this journey is a difficult one. Because it’s not a conversation that we often have within our communities. We either accept that we’re Black or we’re in full on denial. But most of the time it’s not a question of which one, but the fact that we simply identify by country. I remember talking about this with my mother. I told her that this is a hard thing to ask myself. Am I Black or am I white? She told me not to worry about it. That I’m just Dominican and that’s it.

But in the United States, it’s not that simple. When we have to answer that race check box between white or Black, those of us who are mixed often find ourselves stumped. It feels like we’re taking an exam and this question is one we just happened not to study enough. Although the U.S. Census began to allow people to check more than one box in 2000, I’m not sure how many people are aware of this policy. And even if you’re aware of this information, this still shows itself in our everyday life.

I’ve often questioned my own identity regardless of the fact that my family has made me aware of our blackness. That’s because at the end of the day, I have this complexion that signifies privilege. I only started acting against popular belief of the “pelo malo” mindset about 4 years ago when I became aware of how beautiful curly hair was, especially when you begin to take care of it. Because that’s how it works. The more people tell you how ugly something is, or how unacceptable it may be, especially from your own family, you believe it’s true. So you conceal with a blow dryer, straightener, or relaxer. Basically, as many unhealthy techniques as possible that eventually lead to unhealthy hair. And with that, it’s even harder to commit to rejuvenation.

Okay okay, I’m getting a little ahead of myself. But it’s true isn’t it. We’ve been told many negative statements about blackness, specifically African culture that we have in our own roots that make us develop unhealthy habits for ourselves. We treat our own neighbors as the enemy but when it comes to our Spaniard roots, it’s the most blessed thing we have. And we must cherish it.

My own unhealthy habit was my hair. I always knew the impact it had on me and the moment I embraced my curls, it became a sort of reawakening. But I still struggle with finding my place as a Latina within race. I constantly struggle with the way that people may see me and how I see myself. Often I’m told I look Latina but I have once been told that I look Spanish. Sometimes I feel that the way people perceive you is more valid in our society than how you see yourself. Maybe sometimes I do pass as a white girl. But not all white girls look like white girls. Not all white girls are just white girls.

That in its own has a negative perception as well. We’re in a time right now that is ashamed to identify as white not just because of our Spanish ancestors but because we often associate white people as racists who have no rhythm. Meanwhile, we also go back and forth with the notion that while we may be more comfortable identifying as Black because of our culture, many of our families still root from anti-black beliefs that we have to educate ourselves and our parents on.

So no matter what, we struggle.

I’m aware that I haven’t faced any form of colorism. I also know that other Latinas I know who have darker skin tones also haven’t. But there are definitely those who have. And those who are visibly Black that deny identifying themselves as Black.

I feel for those people. Because those people have been some of my family members as well as my friends. And when it comes to people like my family members, I think about the fact that they can look a certain way and have a much more different experience than myself because of their skin color. It’s amazing to me. And it’s just not fair.

That’s why I’m here and claiming this space of uncertainty. While I understand the role of being a light skinned Latina, it’s difficult to identify as white. And because of my skin color and own lived experiences, I’m also aware that I can’t fully identify as Black. I know the privilege I have with my skin and the limits I have with my culture. These mixtures make who I am. It’s not just black and white, pun intended.

I’m here to create a space for those who share these same experiences in their own way. While many Latinx groups go through this, not enough are represented. I know my own story as a Dominican, I know many other people’s stories as Dominicans, but we’re not the only ones who go through this. I still have a lot to learn from other Latin American and Caribbean cultures and that’s why Enaltecer Nuestra Raza exists. To open the stage for the underrepresented and misunderstood.