How I’m Unlearning the White Supremacist Lies That Latinidad Taught Me

Growing up Dominican, I was constantly exposed to messages that glorified white beauty standards and minimized the value of my Black identity. There is no denying that the diaspora has a complicated relationship with Blackness and colorism. The pervasive influence of white supremacy was evident in every aspect of my life, from the media I consumed to the societal expectations enforced upon me. Although I love my Blackness, the vestiges of white supremacy exist deep in the fabric of who I am as a person. It has taken years of self-reflection to recognize the harmful impact of these beliefs and begin the process of unlearning white supremacy. So I’ve resolved to continue strengthening my relationship with my negritud by exploring how I subconsciously center whiteness and by celebrating my Blackness even more. 

One of the most significant steps in unlearning white supremacy has been recognizing and challenging my own internalized anti-Blackness. As an Afro-Latina, society has conditioned me to view Blackness as something from which to distance myself. But through education and self-reflection, I’ve learned to honor and uplift the experiences of Black people within the Latine community and to challenge anti-Blackness in all its forms.

In 2019, I began rejecting white supremacy by releasing the chokehold straight hair had on me. I stopped straightening my hair and began to learn and love my natural texture. This may sound simple, but when you grow accustomed to seeing a particular image of yourself, change can be uncomfortable and even destabilizing. 

Society’s narrow definition of beauty and the media’s portrayal of Latinas as exclusively light-skinned and European-looking had warped my understanding of what was desirable and acceptable. I grew up associating curly hair with a laissez-faire attitude. If I wanted to be considered serious and intelligent, I needed to get my hair straightened. And if I wanted to feel like my best self, I needed to get my hair straightened, even if doing so was impractical, expensive, and damaging. I didn’t always see curly hair as professional or even beautiful. Wearing my hair in its natural form was something I did as a last resort when I couldn’t get myself to the nearest salon. It took me years to understand that to look elegant, I didn’t have to do anything different to my hair: No, I didn’t need straight hair to attend someone’s wedding, or my graduation, or a job interview. My ability to look beautiful or refined didn’t require spending hours in a salon to alter, through chemicals and heat, my hair’s natural texture.

Aside from my hair and physical appearance, I’m embracing interrogating myself as a way to remain intentional about centering Blackness because I recognize that it is not always intuitive. To deepen my relationship with my negritud, I’m examining every aspect of my life through the lens of my Blackness and asking myself important questions: In what ways do I continue to assimilate into white supremacy? What parts of my Black identity and culture have I forgotten to appreciate? What cultural traditions have roots in the erasure of my Blackness in order to reinforce Eurocentrism? In what ways am I compromising and codeswitching to make my Blackness more palatable? 

I also want to look into the past and ask myself: Which historical figures have I not learned about? What literature, art, and media am I not consuming or supporting? Who are the unsung heroes of my community whose stories have been neglected because of their Blackness? 

In the tradition of Alice Walker, who helped bring awareness to Zora Neale Hurston, I want to use my time and resources to learn about the phenomenal Black folks who have been left in the margins of Dominican and Latine history. I’m committed to diving into books, documentaries, and online resources that highlight the contributions and struggles of Afro-Latinos.

In my practice of centering Blackness, I’ve spent time learning about José Francisco Peña Gomez, Mamá Tingó, and Esteban Hotesse — historical figures who are central to the fabric of Dominican and U.S. cultures but do not have enough recognition or acclaim.  Learning about these trailblazers has given me a sense of pride and validation. I want to continue discovering the legacy of Afro-Latines who have made significant contributions to art, literature, music, and social justice movements. 

Unlearning white supremacy and embracing my Afro-Latina identity has also given me a sense of responsibility. I want to challenge the stereotypes and misconceptions surrounding Afrolatinidad and Blackness. For many Black folks across the diaspora, anti-Blackness, self-hate, and even attempting to “pass” seem necessary for survival. It’s important to tackle this conversation with empathy and the understanding that most people want to live their most authentic lives, but society has conditioned them to internalize anti-Blackness as a way to cope. 

Part of my unlearning and confronting white supremacy has been making sure I discuss Blackness and colorism at home with my family and also in my writing. In my fiction, I write about characters who challenge anti-Blackness and embrace their Blackness with love and compassion for themselves and each other — something that doesn’t always come naturally to many of us who have been taught to favor, celebrate, and latch on to our proximity to whiteness. I focus on these themes in my writing because I believe in adding to this much-needed conversation. I’ve come to understand that this unlearning isn’t just about me. It also involves anyone impacted by the footprints of colonialism and white supremacy.

So far this has been a journey of empowerment. Today, I proudly wear my curly hair without feeling guilt or shame. I celebrate the Afro-centric elements of Dominican culture, our bachata and merengue, which have African roots. I celebrate the rich and colorful metaphors of my Dominican Spanish as well as its rhythmic cadence. I read the works of Edwidge Danticat, Melania Luisa Marte, Elizabeth Acevedo, Cleyvis Natera, Kleaver Cruz, and Lorraine Avila. I actively seek to learn about Black history and continue to prioritize the visibility of my Black ancestors and contemporaries. 

The practice of unlearning white supremacy as an Afro-Latina is ongoing. It requires constant self-reflection, education, and a commitment to challenging the status quo. It means recognizing that unlearning white supremacy is not just about personal growth but also collective liberation. There is still much unlearning to do, and I’m looking forward to it. 

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

Original Article Source