Latinegras

Desired Women-Undesirable Mothers, Daughters, Sisters, and Wives

Latinegras are Latinas of obvious black ancestry and undeniable ties to Africa, women whose ancestral mothers were abducted from the rich lands that cradled them to become and bear slaves, endure the lust of their masters, and nurture other women's children. They are the mothers of generations stripped of their identity and rich heritage that should have been their legacy. Latinegras are women who cannot escape the many layers of racism, sexism, and inhumanity that have marked their existence. Painters, poets, singers, and writers have exalted their beauty, loyalty, and strength, but centuries of open assaults and rapes have also turned them into concubines, prostitutes, and undesirable mothers, daughters, sisters, and wives.

Latinegras are marked by a cruel, racialized history because of the shades of their skin, the colors and shapes of their eyes, and the textures and hues of their hair. They are the darkest negras, morenas, and prietas, the brown and golden cholas and mulatas, and the wheat-colored triguenas. They are the light-skinned jabas with black features and the grifas with white looks but whose hair defiantly announces their ancestry. They are the Spanish-looking criollas, and the pardas and zambas who carry indigenous blood.

Latinegras represent the mirrors that most Latinos would like to shatter because they reflect the blackness Latinos don't want to see in themselves.' I am a Latinegra, born to a world that denies my humanity as a black person, a woman, and a Latina; born to a world where other Latinos reject me and deny my existence even though I share their heritage. As Lillian Comas-Diaz writes, the combination of race, ethnicity, and gender makes Latinegras a "minority within a minority." Racism and sexism have been with me all my life. I was raised in Puerto Rico during the 195os and i96os, and lived on and off in the United States during the 1970s and 198os. Today, I still live in both worlds, and most of the gender and race themes I grew up with remain. This essay is my personal and historical narrative of the intersection of racism and sexism that has defined my life and that of other Latinegras.

SOMOS UNA RAZA PURA/PURA REBELDE (WE ARE A PURE RACE/PURE REBEL

"Aqui, el que no tiene inga, tiene mandinga. El que no tiene congo, tiene carabali. zY pa'los que no saben nat, tu abuela a'onde esta?" This popular expression reveals what most Latinos throughout Latin America, and particularly in the Caribbean, know but wish to hide. It attests to the broad racial mixing that exists as well as to its denial. It states: "Here, those who don't have Inga, have Mandinga. Those who don't have Congo, have Carabali. And those who claim not to know, where's your grandma at?" The Ingas, or Incas, were indigenous Indians. Mandingas and Congos were Africans. Carabalis were runaway slaves, both African and indigenous Indians, feared for their rebelliousness. The question, "Where is your grandmother at?" publicly mocks the hypocrisy of white-looking persons who conceal their blackness and deny their ancestral black mothers.

Such expressions permeated my childhood and revealed the many contradictions of my world. Growing up biracial in Puerto Rico, I became aware of Latino racism at a very young age. As the child of a white Puerto Rican mother, whose family counted their drops of pure Spanish blood and resented our dark presence, and a very prieto (dark black) Puerto Rican father, I became aware of the social and economic gulf that prevails within this purportedly harmonious, integrated society. My paternal grandparents were educated, considered middle-class, and lived in a white neighborhood of paved streets and nice homes. Theirs was a neat wooden house with electricity, indoor plumbing, and a telephone. A large concrete balcony and front fence were decorated with ornamental wrought iron. Grandma kept a beautiful front flower garden. They were the only blacks in the neighborhood, always conscious of their neighbors' watchful and critical eyes. We were careful never to set foot outside the house unless we were impeccably groomed. In contrast, the rest of my father's family lived in a predominantly black slum on the outskirts of town. In that neighborhood, everyone was puro prieto (pure black). The dirt streets, the dilapidated houses, the numerous domestic and farm animals running loose, and the lack of electricity and sanitary facilities unequivocally punctuated the differences.

My siblings and I were raised in predominantly white neighborhoods and moved back and forth between two realities that seemed worlds apart. I do not recall a time when both sides of the family got together. Teachers and other adults in the community openly commented to me and my siblings that my mother had disgraced her family by marrying a black man while my father had elevated himself and his family by marrying a white woman. It was then that I learned how identity labels reveal the rancor of white Latinos toward Latinos of obviously nonwhite heritage. White Latinos are light-skinned Latinos who are usually the product of racial mixing, who profess white racial purity, and who are usually accepted as white ("social white"). While my father's family called me triguena, signifying a "step up" from being black, my mother's called me negra (black) and mulata, signifying a step down from being white. On one side of the family we were negros finos (refined blacks), while on the other side we were una pena (a disgrace, sorrow, and shame). Both sides of the family continually judged our looks; whoever had the most clearly defined white features was considered good-looking. I was constantly reminded to pinch my nose each day so it would lose its roundness and be sharper like those of my brothers and sisters. My younger sister was openly praised for her long flowing hair while I was pitied for my grenas (long mane of tangly hair). I felt fortunate, though, that at least it was long and not considered ceretas (short and knotty, like raisins).