In The Community
I remember one of my earliest memories of attending school as a second-grader in the United States like it was yesterday: I was barely starting to understand the English language and was very shy about speaking it. At this point, I was still in Spanish-language classes but on this particular day our homeroom teacher was out and in her place we were taught by an English dominant teacher. I remember a huge sign that sat near her desk that read, “I want the restroom".
If you wanted to go to the restroom you had to read the sign in English. As a shy, Spanish-speaking student, I put my hand up but could not bring myself to read the sign even though she was persistent in mouthing the words while pointing at the sign.
In that moment I felt ashamed of not knowing English, of not being able to verbalize a basic necessity, and felt as though I rather hold it in to avoid my teacher’s glaring eyes as she demanded I repeat after her.
This memory still makes me shudder and makes me realize how often our experience as Spanish speakers was not one of pride but rather one we felt the need to disguise to survive.
There’s a video trend on TikTok that asks, “What’s classy if you’re rich but trashy if you’re poor?”
Speaking multiple languages is one of these things. The idea that if your child can speak multiple languages means you have afforded them the opportunity of a better life. Yet immigrants are asked that they assimilate, be stripped of their culture, their traditions, and their native languages.
We’ve seen high-profile Latine individuals who go on to achieve great things only to be asked, why don’t you speak Spanish? It’s as if their Latinidad is only valid if they speak Spanish. They fail to realize that the same system that asks why they don’t speak the language also stripped them of the opportunity to embrace their native tongue.
In states like Texas, New Mexico, and the rest of the Southwest, young students grew up being punished or even being beat for speaking Spanish in classrooms. To assimilate and provide what they thought was a better life for their children, parents would avoid speaking the language altogether. This resulted in many Latinos who do not speak the language even though they are only second or third generation.
So when we wonder why our fellow Latinos don’t speak Spanish, we must choose not to shame them. For many, assimilation was forced upon them, giving them no other option. It’s time to put our misconceptions about the Latino community behind us and realize that language does not define whether you are worthy of being considered Latino or not.
There are enough issues that we face as a community, and punishing Latinos for not speaking their native tongue does nothing but exclude members of it. It’s time to recognize the systemic inequalities that continue to plague our community, the same inequalities that perpetuated the erasure of Spanish from our upbringing.
Lately, Latinidad has taken the entertainment world by storm. Artists from all corners are dancing to reggaeton, dembow, and other Latin beats.
And while this excitement has spotlighted Latin culture on the global stage, the distinction between appreciation and appropriation is becoming increasingly blurred. The sentiment of "ahora todos quieren ser Latinos" is becoming ever more evident. This raises the question: Are artists intentionally being vague about their Latinidad?
The Echoes of the Latin Explosion
Take a step back to the '90s, a time when the "Latin Explosion" dominated the global entertainment landscape. Spanish pop singer Enrique Iglesias emerged as a leading figure during this period. Even with their Spanish roots, he, along with stars like Penelope Cruz and Antonio Banderas, rode the wave of Latin popularity, often being referred to as Latino.
There’s no doubt that the Latin fever was at an all-time high. Remember when Geri Halliwell, former Spice Girl, dropped "Mi Chico Latino" in 1999? Yep, she went full Latina mode even though she's all British. And how about Nelly Furtado? While she's Canadian with Portuguese heritage, her 2006 album "Loose" showcased distinct Latin pop beats, which often led people to mistakenly identify her as Latina. And the list goes on.
During this period, the Latine community yearned for more visibility and representation. Even if this representation was imperfect, it was a start. Yet, as time has evolved, so have our expectations and definitions of what’s Hispanic and what’s Latino.
When the infectious beats of "Despacito" by Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee broke records in 2017, it opened the floodgates for Latin collaborations, a phenomenon sometimes dubbed “The Despacito Effect.” Reggaeton, once frowned upon, deemed lower-class, and closely associated with the Afro-Latine community, now finds itself in the mainstream, looking significantly paler.
Several English-speaking artists jumped on the reggaeton bandwagon, including Justin Bieber with his "Despacito" remix, where he sang in Spanish (or at least imitated the language), Beyonce teaming up with J Balvin for “Mi Gente,” Madonna collaborating with Maluma on “Medellín,” and Drake pairing with Bad Bunny for “MIA.”Many artists, like Justin Bieber, Drake, and Madonna, choose to sing in Spanish, albeit phonetically, when featuring on a Latin track, but may not consistently integrate the language into their music. While we’re all for embracing multilingualism, there's a difference between a genuine appreciation and understanding of the language and occasional use solely for commercial advantage.
Meanwhile, Spaniards like Rosalía, despite their European roots, have basked in the spotlight of being mislabeled a "Latina," taking home Latin Grammys and thriving on a legacy of colonial exploitation of native Latin-American cultures.
But beyond individual choices, the inner workings of the entertainment industry are deeply entrenched in biases. It's not only about artists like Rosalía and Enrique Iglesias navigating ambiguous cultural boundaries; it's about an industry with a longstanding inclination to put a "whitewashed" face on predominantly Black artistic expressions.
Cultural Crossroads: Appreciation or Appropriation?
The Latine community's internal struggles with colorism and anti-Blackness cast a long shadow. This ingrained prejudice creates a platform where artists like J Balvin, not of Afro-Latino descent, earn accolades in categories rooted in Black Latin heritage. Meanwhile, true torchbearers of the genre, like Ivy Queen and Tego Calderon, despite their monumental contributions, remain unsung heroes.
Despite the rich tapestry of Afro-Latin culture and music, the entertainment industry often sidelines its key contributors. The vibrant rhythms of salsa, merengue, and reggaeton are deeply rooted in the African diaspora, tracing back to centuries of cultural exchange between indigenous communities, African slaves, and Spanish colonizers in the Caribbean and South America. Yet, the narrative that's been presented in mainstream media often whitewashes this historical context, erasing black faces from the spotlight and rendering their contributions invisible.
Mislabeling artists like Enrique Iglesias and Rosalía as "Latino" may seem innocuous, but it has profound implications. There's a distinction between "Latino" (referring to individuals from Latin America), "Hispanic" (those from Spanish-speaking countries), and "Spanish" (referring to Spain). By not understanding or respecting these nuances, the industry overlooks the vast diversity of the Latine community and risks perpetuating colonialist narratives.
Furthermore, the frequent mislabeling further obscures the contributions of Afro-Latine artists, who not only hail from Latin America but also play instrumental roles in developing the music genres we know and love today. Recognizing these artists for their groundbreaking work is a step towards rectifying centuries of erasure and misunderstanding.
As global consumers of music, it's essential to be vigilant and demand accuracy, authenticity, and inclusivity. By holding the industry accountable, there's hope for a future where Latine and Afro-Latine artists are not just a footnote, but are celebrated and acknowledged for the rich cultural legacy they've crafted.
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“Salvadoreña? Like the MS-13?”
My eyes roll to the back of my head as I force a plastered smile explaining (again) that yes, they’re a Salvadorian gang but it was actually formed in the United States. And no, my family isn’t involved.
In my nearly 30 years of life, I have seen a slow evolution of how Salvadorian and Central American, which were synonymous with Mexican, grew into its own category. I’ll be the first to admit that growing up I had no idea Afro and Asian Latinos existed, or that not all Latinos are Indigenous because I hadn’t met any. My family consists of mestizos, and the media I consumed portrayed similar or lighter features which I accepted as canon–anything different was uncommon.
I was wrong. Latinos are primarily mixed, which gives us our broad range of features, shades, and cultural identities. Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic have a strong African influence that is evidenced in the food and music. Peru’s Asian population has left a mark as well, blending cultures and ingredients to create chifa, a cuisine of Peruvian and Chinese ingredients. The Indigenous communities have been around for millennia, with many traditions blending into mainstream Latino culture. Neither of these is less Latino than the other. Each is a piece of Latin America and our identities.
Historically, the United States hasn’t viewed Latinos in a positive light. Despite the contributions and sacrifices made in both world wars, Latinos have been treated as second-class, even when the intentions appear to be genuine. The Bracero Program was meant to prevent labor shortages but resulted in abuse of workers that continues to this day. The Zoot Suit Riots targeted Mexicans, African Americans, and other minorities. It took the 1954 Supreme Court ruling in Hernandez v. State of Texas, which held that the Fourteenth Amendment applied to all racial and ethnic groups facing discrimination, to broaden the scope and determine that civil rights laws included Hispanics and all other non-whites. Discrimination against Latinos–and especially people who are assumed to be Latino based on their appearance–is ongoing (looking at you, SB-1070).
In the media, there’s an interesting juxtaposition of Latinos being portrayed as either sultry lovers or criminals, with over-the-top performances that drive the “feisty” stereotype.
We’ve come a long way from the Old Hollywood depictions showing only what they believed was what a Latino looks like, but Black and Indigenous voices have either been erased completely or fallen to the criminal role. Stories that center the POC struggle shouldn’t be the only narrative point of view because there are so many other beautiful stories waiting to be told.
Social media is the more recent source that has been promoting various Latino voices. Social media platforms allow you to become whoever you want, no matter the niche, which becomes an easy way to educate others. Additionally, with the rising number of Latinos in academia, it’s becoming much easier for kids and young adults to see themselves in a positive light. It’s estimated that by 2025, Hispanic enrollment in higher education will exceed 4.4 million students, which surpasses the growth rate of any other racial or ethnic group. The percentage of Hispanics with STEM degrees rose from 9.8% to 14% between 2009 to 2018 and is only rising.
With hashtags such as #LatinasInSTEM or #Poderosas, and accounts dedicated to elevating Black, Indigenous, and Brown voices it is now much easier to learn about our communities. And with Black and Indigenous voices having been erased for years, creators are diving deep into the oftentimes ugly history of our countries and how we immigrated to the United States and discriminated against our own people, unafraid of having authentic discussions that involve colorism and machismo.
Slowly, educating others in our communities and those outside of it have become possible with the labor done by those committed to breaking the stereotypical barriers. Even as recent as five years ago, if you wanted to educate yourself on Afro-Latino history in Central America you’d come across several hurdles. But with a growing network of Latinos dedicated to unearthing this information it’s just a few clicks away.
Words are powerful. Connecting with others is powerful.
We are not the dirty immigrants, criminals, or spicy Latinas that we’ve seen on our screens for a century. We fit no mold because there truly isn’t one. Not all Latinos speak Spanish, and our features and customs range from country to country. We are now controlling our narratives, and the narratives that the next generation will see.
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