What does it mean to be Black? People will argue that it is a shared experience of culture and treatment based on appearance, ancestral lineage, language and more. When asked the same question of what it means to be Latino (or Latinx, respectfully), the responses can be the same. But what if you’re both?
LeBron James and Maverick Carter’s entertainment company, The Springhill Company, hosts a dinner table series called A Recipe for Change. On a recent episode titled A Toast to Latine Culture, public figures discussed the complexities of their African and Latin heritage.
“I came into the business back when I would audition for a role, and I would be told I wasn’t Latin enough,” said actor Laz Alonso. “I didn’t look Latin enough. I came into this business where I might not even get an audition because I was too Black… We’re in the business of rejection. It’s even harder when you’re told that you are not what you are.”
Actress Gina Torres could relate, speaking about similar experiences where she had to explain her identity to others.
“They don’t get that both things can be true. And there’s such a lack of education in what our diaspora actually looks like because the gatekeepers are so beholden to this one image to keep us all in a box,” Torres said. “That is why this medium is so important. It’s so powerful because if we can’t see ourselves, then what chance do we have?”
Despite misconceptions about cultural representation or a lack of knowledge of the Transatlantic Slave trade from the 16th to the 19th century, members of the Afro-Latinx community are all around us. According to Pew Research, six million people identify as Afro-Latinx in the United States. Many are open about what it means to live with dual identities, find power in both cultures and encourage advocacy.
Vejurnae Leal, a 38-year-old Afro-Cuban woman, knows how important it is to pass down culture through generations. It helps build self-identity and acceptance. With her mother born in Chicago and her father born in Havana, Leal grew up in a household where Black and Latin culture was celebrated and unapologetically explored.
“My mom would only let us have black Barbies in our house. Even with paintings, she would paint over the white faces. She would probably be so embarrassed I’m even sharing this, but I think it’s important. She really valued representation,” she says. “With my dad, he taught us Spanish at home. I’m not 100% fluent, but I’m conversational. With my dad being an immigrant and just Latin culture being his kind of lifeblood, it was obvious that he was not like everyone else. Therefore, we were not like everyone else. My identity has been indestructible, and I want the same thing for my boys.”
She adds, “I have twin boys, and we live in a predominantly Black neighborhood. So, they are very exposed to Black culture. As far as instilling the Latin culture side, we visit my dad weekly and make sure that we’re spending quality time with him. On their fifth birthday, we went to Cuba to visit our family there, but it’s really the little things, too. My boys go to a predominantly Asian school. But after we leave, we will generally go to this little Mexican-owned taco spot and practice our Spanish.”
Gwendolyn Pepin, a 29-year-old Afroboricua, is honest about the challenges of living with both identities. Even when there are affirming cultural teachings within one’s family, perceptions of race and ethnicity in the media can leave one questioning their place in different groups.
“The thing about people of color, Black people, and Latinos, it’s so much more of a spectrum. Also, I think a lot of Afro-Latino people or multiracial people don’t recognize certain privileges you get based on colorism, and they can get caught up in their individual experiences. As a light-skinned woman, I acknowledge that. So, for a person of Latin descent, there can be instances where it is sometimes tied to anti-blackness. For me, I have always had a sense of protectiveness about my blackness. I don’t feel like I want it to be minimized or like I need to prove anything,” Pepin says.
But tapping back into her heritage, understanding the similarities more than differences, Pepin, whose father was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico, has learned that intersectionality is not a burden but a superpower for Black people in the diaspora.
“At some point, I realized there’s no such thing as not enough. For me, I just am. Just being who I am is enough,” she says. “My blackness is not small, and cultivating my Latin roots is still very important to me. I continue to explore my roots with this idea of expanding myself and not thinking I am filling a cavity, because I’m already full.”
Reclaiming dual identities can look different for everyone. While some connect with family members and learn traditions, others may find and embrace connections in unexpected ways. Alicia Araujo, a 28-year-old Afro-Dominican, grew inspired through her natural hair journey to honor her culture more holistically instead of compartmentalizing.
“I will say there was always a level of discomfort. If I was with my Latino friends, there was always this side-eye of like, ‘We know you’re Dominican, but you don’t do it like us.’ And I would say, of course I don’t because I grew up here in America. But overall, growing up in Dominican culture, there’s that nuance where it’s like, we’re all Black. We just don’t all represent it in the same way,” she says. “So, reclaiming both identities didn’t start for me until I was exploring my natural hair journey.”
Araujo grew up getting relaxers, so she didn’t know what her natural texture was. When she decided to find out, she admits she was taken aback by her curl pattern. Through YouTube videos and following beauty gurus, she got better acquainted with her hair, and in turn, herself.
“It opened a Pandora’s box of doing more research and learning the term Afro-Latina. That term was my stamp of ‘You’re just an intersection.’ It’s not that you’re doing this thing called identity wrong. You’re both. You exist in both spaces,” Araujo says.
She adds, “In the Dominican culture, there is a doll called the Muñeca sin rostro, the doll without a face, that has really huge significance. That is because the Dominican culture isn’t a specific race. It’s a combination of three races—African blood, indigenous blood, and then European blood. So, because we’re all this mixture, no one really has one identity. They embrace all of them by having this doll of many different shades, all without a face, because we’re all one.”
Advocating for representation and telling authentic stories of the Afro-Latinx experience is crucial for understanding the beauty that comes from people in the community. Kahlil Haywood, a 35-year-old Afro-Panamanian, knows this all too well.
“Both of my parents are from the Republic of Panama. But growing up in New York, you go to school with all kinds of ethnicities. I went to a very Black school. I went to Black schools until college, pretty much. Later on, it became more apparent, and people started to understand how wide a spectrum the ethnicity of Black people can be,” he says. “This conversation about Afro-Latin ethnicities has become more of a common thing, too. So, I think we all have this pride about where we come from and where our parents come from. I don’t think I ever really wanted to be anything else. I was always made to feel amazing about who I was.”
He adds, “We can advocate for who we are through our writing and taking up space. I always connect to the things that go on in my Panamanian culture. For example, there’s a parade that I go to in Brooklyn in October that celebrates Panama’s independence. I also took part in an anthology called Wild Tongues Can’t Be Tamed, where we talked about our experiences in the Latinx diaspora, including how being Black is part of it. It was great seeing the praise of the book and being a part of furthering the conversation about our diaspora as Black people.”
Affirming identity in society is displayed in how you show up fully, the words and labels you associate with, and your actions. All people in the diaspora should feel empowered to glorify their lineage by speaking to all parts of themselves uniquely. It is important to own who we are proudly and loudly.
“A lot of us who grew up here don’t speak Spanish fluently. But there is something I say that everybody understands, whether you speak English or Spanish: ‘Más o menos,’” Haywood says. “All it means is more or less. I think both sides can relate to it because it’s like either or as far as when we think about identity. I’m not more here and less there. I’m both.”
