Black on Black Racism in the Dominican Republic

Haitians and dark-skinned Dominicans 
confront racism on a daily basis.

Here in California, I don't meet too many people from the Domincan Republic as most of them are on the east coast of the USA. However, I did recently meet a couple of light-skinned Dominican woman at a bus stop where we got into a brief conversation. Both were fine looking and rather friendly compared to what I hear about Dominicans and their attitudes towards black people.

One thing that stood out about them is that their hair looked as though they were fresh from a beauty parlor. This is a big deal in the Dominican Republic, making your hair look as straight and Eurocentric as possible. Although, these two women were of color, I thought they would have looked just as good with curly or frizzy hair. However, anything making reference to an Afro-centric or Haitian look is beneath the average Dominican.

In a country where 90% of the citizens have African ancestry, the self hatred among Dominicans of color is unfathomable. Black Dominicans have gone as far as lynching black Haitian-Dominicans trying to drive the Haitians, even though they were born in the Dominican Republic, back into Haiti. 

The African-American woman who wrote the article below is black and proud, and describes a conflicting experience living in the Dominican Republic. 

My only question to her would be why did she choose the Dominican Republic to live and teach English versus other Latin-American countries where racism and internalized racism is not nearly as steep? She says, going to the Dominica Republic would give her a break from the racism that she experiences in the US. Wow was she mistaken.

Below is the link to the article followed by a copy of the actual article itself.

My Struggles as a Black American in the Dominican Republic

When I lived in the Dominican Republic, there was a point when the jeers from the streets, shouts of “Arréglate ese pelo!” (Fix that hair!) and mocking gestures about my prominent pajón (afro) became too much to deal with. In a country of complex racial dynamics, where straightened hair is a social currency and billboards depict curly-haired women with the headline “Your hair deserves better,” natural or curly hair, colloquially referred to as pelo malo (bad hair—also a term used in the black American community), is sometimes viewed as a marker of Haitian identity. While many Dominicans vehemently deny the role of race in the current controversy over the deportation of Dominicans of Haitian descent and Haitian migrants, the treatment I received while living in the Dominican Republic (and often being mistaken as Haitian) suggests the contrary.

As a black American from the South, I initially (and perhaps naively) thought I’d catch a break from the daily racism I experienced in the U.S. As with black Americans, there are Dominicans (and Haitians) of every shade. I welcomed the idea of living in a country where most people looked like my family members and me, as 90 percent of the Dominican population has black ancestry.
However, it wasn’t long before I encountered a familiar, yet foreign, racism. While I realize that experiences vary and my story is one of many, it is certainly not the exception. Whether in the form of racial slurs or extreme violence, both Haitians and dark-skinned Dominicans alike confront racism on a daily basis. After continuously feeling like a walking target with my sizable pajón, I decided to carry hair ties for the days that the taunts became unbearable.

I arrived in Santiago, Dominican Republic as an English professor one month before Sentencia 168/13, a Supreme Court ruling that revoked the citizenship of Dominican residents whose parents were born outside of the country as far back as 1929, unless they could regularize their status. In the months that followed, lynchings of Haitians became more frequent, according to media reports. Black American friends that had come to study abroad were harassed and interrogated by police about their nationality. After my friends explained that they were Americans studying abroad, the officers scoffed at them, laughing that “esa se cree americana pero es haitiana” (this one thinks she’s American, but she’s Haitian). Even my Dominican host sister, whose surname was French in origin, encountered complications with government agencies that questioned her Dominican identity. I began to realize that the recurring treatment my colleagues and I were receiving was probably a result of intensified anti-haitianismo following the Supreme Court ruling.
Most of my fellow U.S. English professors condemned the ruling, though others viewed it as the Dominican Republic exercising its sovereign right to regulate immigration within its borders. Some of my Dominican and Haitian students criticized the ruling as discriminatory, while others adamantly defended the court’s decision. However, few dared to denounce it as racist.

I was no stranger to discrimination in the Dominican Republic, having endured taunts, repeatedly been denied entry to clubs, and received regular slights during my time there. With both the history of Hispaniola and my own experience in mind, I know the court’s ruling was founded upon anti-haitianismo that the country has yet to reconcile. In the words of Junot Díaz, “if we do not begin to practice the muscles of having a possessive investment in each other’s oppressions, then we are in some serious trouble.”

The Ugly Side of Panamá

 Entrance to the Tocumen Mall in Panamá City

Mario, a Panamanian with whom I hung out in college proudly wore his Converse All-Star sneakers with the scribbling of his hometown of Colón, Panamá. Marjorie, a former co-worker of mine was also highly nostalgic of her country, Panamá, as well. Like Mario and Marjorie, an overwhelming majority of the Panamanians I met in my life were black, proud, and very down-to-earth.

Finally one day, while traveling from Lima, Perú to Cartagena, Colombia, I had the opportunity to get a glimpse of Panamá as I took advantage of a six-hour layover in Panama City. Unlike other Spanish-speaking countries I've visited, I felt very much at home with the high visibility of black employees in the airport. 

Having limited time I hung out at the Tocumen Mall, less than a five-minute cab ride. I spent my time checking out the shops, looking at the women, and just absorbing as much of the language and culture as I could. It was around Christmas time, thus everyone seemed mellow and content. This inadvertently enhanced my first impression of the country.

According to International Living, Panamá is rated as the world’s best retirement haven in 2014. With a spate of deserted islands, the Caribbean sea on one side and the Pacific Ocean on the other, Panama sits poised to deliver the best in the world of beaches.

However, as in every country, despite its beauty, charm, and attractions, there is an ugly side to Panamá, which I'm learning from personal testimonies of fellow African-Americans who, unlike I, spent considerable amount of time in this tropical paradise.

One wealthy, black business woman from Brooklyn, NY stated so eloquently in her blog post, Traveling with Racism, how she was deeply disappointed upon her arrival in Panamá to find the sheer amounts of black people who were visibly poor, living in makeshift homes along feces infested rivers, children playing bare foot and begging for food, and the vast amounts of heavily-armed police officers pushing black folks aimlessly on the streets. 

She then could not help but notice the palm trees that lined the president's home, which sits right across the highway from some of the most deplorable living conditions she has ever seen. 

One day, she attempted to enter a store that sold exclusively Western goods like Lancome makeup and Dior fragrances. The black security guard stood front and center and stopped her. He accused her of being a good-for-nothing negro trying sneak her way into a high end store. After presenting her passport and telling him that she is an American, the otherwise arrogant guard apologized profusely, and allowed her access. 

The one thing that this sister and I have in common is that during our travels, we prefer to connect with members of the African diaspora without having to use our American passports to distinguish ourselves from our brothers and sisters unless it is absolutely necessary. Such as the evening I took a bunch of friends out to dinner and found it more convenient to use my credit card. Handing over my “American” passport along with the card gave me top credibility.

Then we have Bishop, an African-American English teacher who described in his blog post, Locked Up in Panama—Walking While Black, how he was at a neighborhood parade where everyone was dancing to percussion instruments. As the evening progressed, the party died and the people dispersed.

Bishop was heading back to the family home where he was staying when the police hopped out of their patrol cars like the gestapo with M16s and Uzis drawn demanding to see his ID. Bishop presented his US passport and explained, in English, that he is an English teacher. Speaking English, and not Spanish, when stopped by the police was advice given him by his white co-workers, which has gotten them off the hook. There was no such luck with Bishop. 

The officer then demanded “plata” (a cash bribe to be let go). Because Bishop had less than a dollar on his person at the time, he was hauled into the back of the police truck at gunpoint and handcuffed to another detainee. A detainee who was apprehended while walking down the street with his three-year-old daughter.  The cops took him and left her in the street.

After being thoroughly searched at the station, there were no charges, no rights being read, and no phone calls. When the officer opened the cell door, Bishop looked at the officer and asked “por que (why)?”  The officer motioned with his Uzi to enter the hot, smelly, 8ft x 8 ft cell that he shared with 6 other men. 

Panamá, like many other countries has its share of racism and human rights violations. This could have happened to me in when I crossed the border from Ecuador into Perú as I was stopped by the the Peruvian National Police because they thought I was either an illegal alien or a drug trafficker.  Cops in Latin-American countries are terribly underpaid and often depend on bribes to make ends meet, which was the case with Bishop.

Had I known better, I would have responded to the aggressive officer in English, and not Spanish. However, I was still fortunate. Although this officer himself appeared desperate for a bribe, he also seemed to be touched by my story of traveling to explore black cultures in Latin-American countries, and the fact that I was staying with a prominent Afro-Peruvian family. 

Who knows, perhaps this officer himself may have blacks in his own family. A large proportion of brown and white Latin Americans have an African presence in their family tree than most are willing to admit.

Racist Encounter of the Peruvian Kind

In my first trip to Perú where I was undergoing Spanish-language intensive training for my advanced certificate, I experience a subtle but, rude awakening to Peruvian racism. Perhaps, as a black person from the USA, I should have been used to it, such as the evening I was in the predominately Latino Mission District of San Francisco. I was on my way to teach a résumé-writing workshop in Spanish at the Central American Resource Center. It's been a while since I was in this area as I live across the bay in Oakland; thus, I was somewhat lost. I saw two white patrol officers walking their beat, and I thought to myself that they would surely know which direction to take. And they did.

A queasy feeling came over me by the way one of the officers reacted to me when I approached them. It was as if he perceived me as a potential threat even though I was loaded down with a bag filled with workshop materials. The officer, without saying a single word, pointed in the direction that I should be walking with his nightstick. It was so unlike the manner in of someone who is sworn to protect and serve.Unfortunately, this behavior does not seem to be restricted to the USA

One evening, in the Barranco District of Lima, Perú where I was staying, I was in the mood to go out and party. I started walking the streets looking for a place to exchange some of my American dollars into Peruvian currency. Down the block, I saw a police car parked at the corner of the main square. Surely, they would know, I thought to myself. As I got up close to the police car, I noticed their window up and shut tight as they simply looked at me. I motioned for them to roll down the window because I wanted them to hear my question. The officer on the drivers side lowered the window about an inch. As soon as they heard my foreign accent and request to exchange my American dollars, they realized that I was not Afro-Peruvian. The police car's window was immediately rolled all the way down, and both officers suddenly became jovial as they happily gave me the directions that I needed.

I walked away with feelings of frustration and empathy on behalf of black Peruvians and how I could certainly relate to their experience of racism in their own country. Racism to which so many Peruvians I've personally heard vehemently deny exist. What Perú and other Latin-American countries do have over the US, however,  is that you hardly hear of any hate crimes or police brutality motivated by race.

Any Guilt Feelings Among Black Americans Traveling in Latin America?

Terri, an African-American member of a Facebook forum, Brothers and Sisters in Latin America, posed a question to those of us who have lived or visited a Latin-American country. She wanted to know if any of us felt any guilt or felt badly that we, as Americans, get better treatment and more respect than the black citizens of the countries we visit.

The reason I personally do not have guilty feelings is because, as much as possible, I try to connect with the black community in the countries to absorb as much as I can about their black experience and history. Monetarily, I offer support in ways that I can afford, but at the same time, I do not allow anyone to take advantage of me. 

In the commercial district of Cartagena, Colombia, I came across a black woman selling her wares. Although, I saw nothing that I wanted or needed, I handed her some money just to be helpful. There were other times, in certain countries, that I blended so well with the black community that I too sometimes experienced disrespect due to racial prejudice. 

In Chincha, Perú, an Afro-Peruvian friend escorted me to a bus station to inquire about the price of a ticket to Ecuador. The man shouted the price at me in a tone of voice expressing doubt that I could even afford it. In Quito, Ecuador, I had trouble catching cabs in certain parts of town, especially at night, because I was profiled as an Afro-Ecuadorian thug. One Friday night I saw a cabbie drop off a white couple, and when I tried to enter, he wagged his finger in utter defiance. I then waved two $5 bills, LOL; he changed his mind instantly. Once in the cab, he was pleased to learn that I'm an African-American traveler and not an Afro-Ecuadorian native...sigh!

Tamara, another one of our African-American members, was generally treated with warmth and respect in her travels, however, she spoke of one isolated incident in a department store in Lima, Perú. She saw some soccer jerseys that she wanted to get for her nephew. She tried to get the store clerk's attention, but the clerk turned and walked away. Within minutes, the store clerk returned with a man who was possibly a security officer. When Tamara addressed her in English, the clerk's attitude changed abruptly giving Tamara a very pleasing smile. Tamara was so turned off by the obvious racial profiling that she decided to shop somewhere else (good for Tamara!).
 .
Thierry, an Afro-Latino member of the group stressed that in Latin America, tourists of “any” color get treated better than local Latin-American citizens, regardless of their race. I tend to agree. I believe that if I stayed in a fancy hotel speaking English only, and perceived as having a pocket full of money, I would not have experienced any racism. In Latin America, money “whitens” your skin.

He [Thierry] also added that the great hospitality that visitors from other countries receive from Latin Americans may also be a way for them to take advantage of you, i.e., to charge you much higher prices—the famous gringo tax. Fortunately for me, my attempts to establish bonds with local citizens and immerse myself in the language and cultures of the barrios (the hood) results in cheaper prices for food, lodgings, entertainment, and souvenirs, which always saves me an enormous amount of money.

I Aroused Suspicion at a Peruvian Party

It was almost one year after my first trip to Perú, and was exhilarated to learn about a Peruvian event in San Francisco, across the bay from where I live in Oakland. The party was at the Fina Estampa Restaurant featuring, directly from Perú, popular singer Pepe Vazquez.

I arrived at the front window early to get a good seat, and paid my $35.00 entry fee to a heavy-set Peruvian gentleman who seemed to be either the manager or owner. Upon entering, I immediately set my bag and over coat down in the chair where I wanted to sit, then ran up to the second level to order a meal—arroz con pollo (chicken and rice). Having eaten Peruvian food at other venues in the US and in Perú, I was not impressed with my meal, but it was enough to energize me for a full night of partying.

 Fina Estampa Restauran, San Francisco, CA

After eating, I went back downstairs and ordered something from the bar that I had not had since visiting Perú—a pisco sour (a cocktail made from Peruvian brandy). As I went back to my table, I noticed that the heavy set Peruvian manager/owner was eying me suspiciously with that familiar look of fear and concern. Perhaps, he was wondering what interest would a black American have in a Peruvian environment. Did he think I was casing the place planning a robbery?. There were other blacks in the place, but they are Afro-Peruvian. In fact, the lead singer Pepe Vazquez and one of his band members whom I met a week prior to this event at a pollada (chicken dinner-party) are also Afro-Peruvian. I also had the opportunity to introduce myself and chat with singer Pepe Vazquex while dining in the upper level.

I brushed off this man's reaction to me because, with a picso sour in my hand, I was filled with fond memories of Perú. Other than Cuba, Perú was my most memorable and heart-warming experience out of the nine Spanish-speaking countries that I've visited.

 Singer Pepe Vazquez
1961-2014—RIP

When I think about it, I would have happily and gregariously explained my interest in Peruvian culture if that manager/owner had the intestinal fortitude to simply “ask!” He was totally unaware of the time I spent in Lima, the Peruvian capital, where I took a Spanish-language intensive course, and  hung out in various parts of the city, This gentleman was clueless to the fact that I spent weekends with Peru's famous black musical family, the Ballumbrosios. This suspicious gentlemen did not know that I would be taking many more trips to Perú on my vacations because I fell in love with the country, the culture, and the people.

However, despite the judgement of this poor, frightened individual, I had a wonderful time. When Pepe Vazque to came out to sing, he gave me some “dap“ (a type of greeting when two men knock their fists together in lieu of a handshake). In between sets, the dj played salsa music, which gave me a chance to go on the dance floor and show off what I can do. Yes, this black American can definitely “throw down” on some salsa. That gentleman did not know that I grew up in what used to be the salsa music capital, New York City (now, it's Cali, Colombia). He didn't know anything about me . He certainly wanted to know, but lacked the moral fiber to simply “ask ” Meanwhile, I partied hearty until 3 AM.

Controversy over Black Girl Winning a Latina Beauty Contest

  

From looking at a wonderful photo of a young Afro-Dominican beauty queen, Jakiyah McKoy, 7, crowned Chiquita Delaware (Little Miss Hispanic Delaware) posted by journalist Dash Harris, there was some speculation expressed about the controversy surrounding the pageant winner. As I myself explored this matter, I learned that the eight finalists, all very intelligent with pleasing personalities, had to demonstrate their talents by dancing or singing, modeling along the catwalk, and answering questions. Ironically, Jakiyah was the only contestant of African heritage, and the only contestant required to prove her lineage as a Latina.

After being announced the winner, there was an uproar stating that she is not the best representative of Latin beauty. It never ceases to amaze me how so many Latinos that I meet in my personal life who are so oblivious to the racial diversity in their own community. I hate to bust some folks bubble, but not all Latinas look like Jennifer Lopez. I’m not Latino, yet I myself have personally met and rubbed elbows Latinos who look like Denzel Washington, Merryl Streep, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, and Sun-Young-Moon. Where have these folks who criticized the winner been all of their lives assuming you have to be a certain color to be Latino. As I stated on another blog post, I’ve been in Latin-American restaurants and grocery stores in the US, Perú, and Venezuela that were owned and staffed by Chinese, and if I didn’t speak Spanish (or Cantonese), I didn’t eat. It was simple as that!

The pageant winner’s Latin-American bloodline goes back to her grandmother who was born in the Dominican Republic. Jakiyah herself was born in Brooklyn, New York where her mother currently lives. The little Miss Hispanic Delaware currently stays with her father in the city of Wilmington, Delaware. She likes to sing, dance and watch movies with her grandmother. Jakiyah McKoy has one brother, Shad, and a sister, Jamiyah. She loves spending time with her aunts, uncles, and her cousins and loves her godmother Relly. Her favorite pastime is drawing.

Latino Use of the "N" Word

Recently, I was listening to a taped talk show on WBAI Radio in New York discussing an African-American woman’s $30K lawsuit against her company because of a Puerto Rican co-worker’s use of the “N” word. The interesting thing about this Puerto Rican co-worker, the object of the suit, is that he is as “black” as any African-American, and his Afro-Puerto Rican ancestors were victims of slavery and follow-up racism long before African-Americans.

Obviously, this woman is not from my neck of the woods where during my youth in New York City, Puerto Ricans of all colors, have been integral parts of African-American communities throughout the city. And this included the common use of that “N” word; not in racial context, per se, but what I would call a corrupt and misguided term of endearment. I even heard an African-American teen clowning a non-black Puerto Rican friend with the “N” word.

About a year before I went to college, three schoolmates and I were hanging out. Two were African-American; one was a brown-skinned Puerto Rican, and the other was white. The Puerto Rican, Robert Hernandez, got a little upset with me about something and shouted the “N” word (directed at me). The white classmate looked at me chuckling, wondering what I was going to do about it. I merely shrugged it off simply because I viewed Robert as an ethnic cousin in the hood whose closest friends included African-Americans.

Had Robert been of another Latin-American nationality, I most likely would have viewed it differently. Case in point: I was riding with a group of coworkers to a company event, and as we passed through a black neighborhood, a Chilean immigrant in the car started making derogatory remarks about the ghetto. I reported him to company management who in turn called him on the carpet for an explanation. He gave an insincere apology along with some weak excuses for his insensitive statements. He must have assumed that because I speak some Spanish and take trips to Latin America that I am  not “black” enough to be offended. Since his true colors came to light, he and I never spoke again unless it was work related, and even that was seldom.

I am by no means defending the use of that “N” word among African-Americans, let alone Latinos, and I really wish we would all drop it from our vocabulary all together. One afternoon while coming home from work on a commuter train, this thuggish looking black guy kept shouting “N” throughout his cell phone conversation. I then noticed two white women looking at each other in shock and disgust. I could just about read their minds as they were saying to themselves, it's bad enough when white people use such a derogatory term. I wouldn’t use it! Why is he using it and degrading himself this fashion, especially in public?

In the film, The Butler, a classy black servant working in an upscale hotel slapped a young black protégé for using that word stating it is racist, filled with hate, and that we blacks, of all people, should not be using it. It is of my utmost conviction that every black man, woman, and child who uses that word needs a good, old-fashioned slap in the face; including Afro-Latinos.

George Zimmerman and His Latino Roots

When I listen to the news and read articles addressing George Zimmerman's race, it amazes me how educated people who should know better get so confused. Some argue that he is White, and others argue that he is not White, but Latino. Even George Zimmerman himself appeared confused; or at least trying to win the sympathy of the non-White public by describing himself as Latino, a fellow minority, and not White. Why can't he be both, considering that White is a color and Latino is a culture?

Based on my own travel experience, and my growing up in a mixed African American and Latino community, I've observed that Latin American people are collectively made up of White, Black, Asian, Middle Eastern, and of course, Indigenous. Oops, I forgot to mention Jewish people. George Zimmerman is the son of a Mestizo mother from Perú and a White father whose name, Zimmerman, derives from the German last name Zimmermann, which means carpenter. In essence, George Zimmerman is White and half Latino - a no-brainer! 

In terms of racial views, no one is born racist; not even George Zimmerman. Racism generally originates with family and community influences. Even in the Latin American countries I've visited, I've noticed blatant racial discrimination against people of color, particularly against the Indigenous and the Blacks. I remember walking into a bank in Cartagena, Colombia, a city filled with Blacks and Browns, but the bank employees, including the security officer, were so white that I felt that I needed sunglasses to see what I was doing.

Here in the US, I've met Latinos of all colors who mix well with African-Americans having the understanding that, despite language and cultural differences, both communities face similar issues of American racism. Yet, I've met other non-black Latinos who are only prejudiced against African Americans, and not Afro-Latinos. The question that lingers in my mind is do these Latin American immigrants dislike African Americans, in general, or is it just the ghetto types who exhibit all of our negative stereotypes (maybe someone reading this can help me get more clarification). When I'm shopping in Oakland's Spanish-speaking district to practice my Spanish, I can't help but notice how some people warm up to me thinking that I might be Afro-Latino, and not African American. And of course, there are non-Black Latin Americans who dislike all Blacks, regardless of ethnicity.

While African American people, including I, are disturbed over the George Zimmerman case, I'm equally disturbed by the actions of some Black people who are contributing so heavily to the oppression of the African American community? Yes, there are a lot of George Zimmermans out there; some even in police uniforms, but it is mostly Black people who are doing the George Zimmerman dirty work. Where is the outrage, here? When will the African American community wake up and realize that we have enemies within our own borders?

I'm So Glad I Didn't Stereotype Her

I just came out of a job interview, which consisted of a panel of four. One of the interview panelist fits the stereotypical profile of a Latina and has a Spanish first and last name. I already knew that the ability to speak Spanish was a plus, so before I left the interview, I wanted to, as rapper Kid Frost would say, “bust some Spanish” to show off my Spanish-speaking skills, and that Latina woman appeared to be the perfect person with whom to exchange a few words to help me impress the panel. Yes, that's stereotyping, I know, because I've personally met too many Americans of Latin American heritage who speak little or no Spanish.

Finally, a question came up during the interview, which I thought would be a perfect sedge-way for “busting” my Spanish. Without looking directly at this Latina panelist, I asked, does anyone here speak Spanish? I once posted a blog post, What Do Spanish-speakers look like, about how you cannot look at people and determine what language they speak. No one raised their hands; not even the Latina panelist. So, I was so glad that I did single her out because that would have been embarrassing to me and frustrating to her because no one likes being stereotyped.

I went on and answered the question and described how I've traveled to nine Spanish-speaking countries and was totally immersed in the Spanish language, and even talked about how I gave a Venezuelan and a Peruvian feedback on their curriculum vitaes. The smiles of delight were evident on everyone's face, and at the end of the interview, every one of the panelist came over to shake my hand personally as I exited the room.

I left with a good feeling, about the how the whole interview went. However, we never know who we are competing with for an open position., therefore regardless of their decision, I already have a job, and for that  am thankful!

Who's Planting the Racial Seeds?

While waiting at the checkout line in a store one evening, I engaged in a conversation with an El Salvadorean woman, and her child who could not have been more the 6 years old. The little girl asked me, what is a black guy doing speaking Spanish? I can tell by her warm demeanor that she did not mean any harm. In fact, the minute she saw me, she gave me a friendly, but curious gaze. Although, her mother calmly scolded her for making that comment, I high-fived the child wondering who planted the racial seed in her heart. In any event, I would love for this little girl to meet my goddaughter Daniela who is Black and speaks Spanish only!

On another occasion when I used to do recruiting for a federally sponsored job-training program for youth,  a young Latina came into my office with her mother who did not speak any English. Out of fearful concern for her daughter, she asked me if there were a lot of Blacks in this institution. I just bit my lip to keep from laughing. The mother must have thought I was “different” because we were speaking Spanish (LOL).

Fortunately, her daughter was not concerned and obviously did not buy into the racial prejudice of her mother. She went into the training program and got along well with everyone, regardless of color.