Confusing Afro-Latinos with African Americans

“I really wish more people in the U.S. knew about Afro-Latinos. I'm tired of the stereotypes towards Black people—black people eat fried chicken, black people only speak English, black people eat soul food, etc. 

Not all Black people have the same culture. And I need more Afro-Latino friends. It's hard to find Afro-Latinos in Texas. 

I hang around Hispanics that are not black and they wonder if I'm mixed with black and how do I know Spanish. I need to surround myself with my people more.”

José
San Marcos, Texas 

The shame in the above statement is that even a lot of non-black Latinos are just as guilty of pigeon-holing black people as any other ethnic group, including African-Americans. Latin-Americans, of all people, should be aware of the racial diversity in their own community, and many, I found are not. To me, that is baffling. 

I recall many instances in my personal life where I had to educate U.S. people of Latin-American ancestry that real Latinos come in all colors. From my travels and interactions with Latinos in the U.S., I've met Latinos of Asian, African, Middle Eastern, European, and Jewish ancestries. When I was in Lima, Perú, I could not go into a Chinese restaurant without ordering in Spanish (or Cantonese) if I wanted to eat.

 Ironically, there is a segment of the Afro Latino population who speak Spanish loudly in order to differentiate themselves from African-Americans. It is as if to say, I'm different; I'm not like “those” black people. Doris, a former salsa dance partner of mine, once told me when she first moved to Brooklyn from Puerto Rico that she did not associate with black people. I reminded Doris that she too is black. She then tapped her arm twice saying, “I mean black-black people. I then reminded her while tapping my arm twice that there are black-black people all over the world. 

Too many blacks in the western world from the USA all the way down to Argentina forget (or want to forget) that we come from the same Africans whose bodies line the ocean floor and whose blood left a trail that moved the shark population into the Western Hemisphere. I recently read a sign saying the only difference between a Dominican, Puerto Rican, Haitian, Cuban, Bahamian, and an African American is a boat stop. Yet, most of us blacks in the western world are divided or misguided amongst ourselves as to who we are and our history. 

Then, I met other Afro-Latinos who are quiet and reserved about their culture and ethnicity in order to fit into the predominate African-American community in the US. I tell the ones that I'm close to that people need to be educated, which is why I've been blogging African American - Latino World for five years. Although my blog attracts African Americans, Latinos, and others, I'm only one person. More Afro-Latinos can do more to educate because, sure enough, people need it!

We all have the power and the responsibility to tell our own stories and stop fussing about people's ignorance like passive victims. I would like to see more Afro Latinos write their own stories and control the narrative.  

For Blacks in Cuba, the Revolution Hasn’t Begun

On my résumé, I proudly list my University of Havana's Spanish-language intensive training. Employers have asked, why Cuba to study Spanish (i.e. versus other Spanish-speaking countries). I explained to them that I am a salsa dancer, and Cuba is where salsa music has its roots. 

Upon my arrival in Cuba, I felt so much at home with its large black population and its abundance of salsa and Afro-Cuban music that I immediately set out to make successful connections with members of the Afro-Cuban community. 

Unlike other Latin-American countries I've visited, it was a good feeling to see blacks working in shops, hotels, at the airport, in public transportation, as police officers, and not to mention as engineers and doctors. It was a pleasure to see black faces on the campus of the University of Havana.

I have to give Fidel Castro credit for being the only Latin American leader to openly address racism in his country versus sweeping it under the rug and pretending that it doesn't exist. Castro, instead, articulated a vision for the elimination of institutional racism and attempted to dismantle it. He admitted, however, this was not as successful as he'd hoped. 

Fidel also sent troops to support several wars of liberation in Africa. He arranged free training of medical doctors from the African continent through Cuba's Latin American School of Medicine and, in recent years, extended scholarships to the school through the Congressional Black Caucus to U.S. students from under served communities.

However, I was not on the island of Cuba long enough to witness or even experience the hidden racism in Cuban society. Even many of the black Cubans gave me the impression that racism had come to an end in Cuba. However, Roberto Zurbano, an Afro-Cuban writer and reporter, wrote the following article in the New York Times...

For Blacks in Cuba, the Revolution Hasn’t Begun.

America the Misnomer

One day, while seeking directions in South America, I came across a group of black guys. Noticing my accent (in Spanish), they asked, “Are you from America?” My response was yeah, man, so are you! “Soy estadounidense (I'm from the US),” I told them in Spanish. 

I was born in St. Louis, MO and raised in New York City, and was brought up singing “America the Beautiful” and “God Bless America,”and was therefore conditioned to call myself an American and refer to my country as America.

I maintained this proclaimed identity until a friendly guy from Colombia gave me a logical lecture about the reality of America explaining that he too is an American because he lives on one of the American continents. He went on to explain that we who live in the US are referred to by Latin Americans as Norte Americanos (North Americans) or Estadounidenses, a Spanish way of saying a United States citizen.

I later attended a Latin-American cultural event hear in the U.S. where the speaker pulled up a black doll from her country referring to it as African-American. What really hit home for me was while traveling through South America I stopped in a bank to withdraw money using my credit card. The bank manager asked me of which country is my bank. Out of frustration, I said, “the United States, can't you see Bank of America on the card?” Her response was that could be anywhere in the Americas.

I think that it is somewhat arrogant of us here in the U.S. to label our one country out of two continents with the misnomer of America. However, people around the world also refer to our country as America. I now refer to my country as the United States of America or simply the USA, and when I'm speaking to Spanish speakers, I refer to myself as Estadounidense, not Americano.

America is no more a country than Africa, Asia, or Europe. They are all continents.

Unconditional Love for a Peruvian Child

I live in Oakland, CA; Daniela lives in El Carmen, Perú. We met when she was three. At the age of five, Daniela asked me if she could be my daughter. When she was seven, I told her mother, out of pure affection, that Daniela is my only child. Despite subtle attempts by members of her family to influence Daniela to use me as a source of extra income, my love for Daniela is unconditional.

It was October 2005, in the sleepy, folkloric town of El Carmen, known as the hub of Afro-Peruvian culture where one warm evening, while alone in the living room working on my laptop, a three-year-old girl wandered in from next door. As she so eagerly accepted some sugarless candy I offered her, and as she so sweetly told me her name, Daniela, I felt a strong sense of connection with a little girl who seemed to simply wanted to be loved by a father figure. From that moment, Daniela held a very special place in my heart. 

Daniela at age 7 and me

After returning to the USA and relaxing after such a wonderful vacation, like a video screen; precious memories of Daniela as I last saw her sitting in front of her home in her bright, rose-colored dress on my last day in El Carmen vividly appeared. I made periodic calls to Daniela's family, and one day over the phone, Daniela asked me if she could be my daughter. 

It was so easy for me to slip into Daniela's shoes who doesn't have her father around because I know the feeling of not having my mother around when I was her age.  What a divine delight for me to refer to Daniela as mija (my daughter). I don't know where her real father is, but I felt really good inside to learn that Daniela felt this way about me.  


I promised Daniela (age 8) a brand new bicycle if she does well in school.

Upon my return to Perú, it was bonding time for Daniela and me. I even brought gifts, but they were no match for the vital gift of a father/daughter relationship. I had a taste of joy reading storybooks to Daniela, teaching her to tell time, taking her and her friends out for ice cream and chicken dinners and to parks and playgrounds. And it was a taste of joy hearing them scream with excitement. 

With Daniela's older sister, Ruth (17), being some sort of a chaperon making sure that I'm not one of those—weirdos— who prey on children, I always try to find creative ways to educate and enrich Daniela's life. I teach her a little English and basic computer skills. I have even drilled her on her math, and taught her to play Scrabble, Monopoly, and Chess.

Daniela celebrating her 11th birthday

Even between my trips to Perú, I generally wire money to her family to benefit Daniela. She was always excited and uplifted when would call. I've even wired money to a van driver so Daniela and her family and friends can be taken to the beach.  

I really feel that Daniela's family is fond of me, but I also feel that they see me as a source of American income. A Peruvian American who himself gets the gringo treatment when he is in Perú once told me that the reason so many Peruvians show me a lot of love is for the money. “It's about the benjamens, moron,” he would insist out of frustration. 

Sometimes the family would have Daniela lie about her personal needs to get me to send money. There were times I'd wire money just because, and at other times, I'd decline with an excuse of my own. I also got disgusted by the fact that all the gifts I've bought for Daniela, like bicycles, were sold to bring revenue to the family. 

Daniela graduating from primary 

school at the age of 12

Today, the rapport that I have with Daniela is not as close as before. On my last trip, the excitement I used to experience from her was no longer there, although I could still see such excitement in her eyes. I don't know if she is just getting older and more reserved like her older sister, or is her family planting seeds reminding her that I am not family, only a gringo with a pocket full of money. I simply do not know for sure.

Meanwhile, I still feel unconditional love for Daniela. When I return, I want to teach her pre-algebra and some more English. When she turns 15, I want to sponsor her Quiceañera (equivalent to a sweet 16 party). I'm very happy and honored to be that male figure to fill the void that Daniela needs in her life. I love her as though she were my own daughter, and I often tell her yo te amo, mija (my daughter, I love you).

Daniela (far left in pink), and her family members and 
I are getting ready to chow down on some grilled chicken.

Call Her Neither Black nor Latina

There was a discussion among a group of Afro Latinos about a published article entitled, Don't Just Call Them Afro Latino. The article was about a woman from Honduras, Central America named Sulma Arzu-Brown who was tired of her African-American friends referring to her as “black,” and her Latina friends referring to her as “Latina.” Sulma decided to “enlighten” her friends explaining that she is neither black nor Latina—she is Garífuna (pronounced Gar-REE-Foo-Nah).

The Garífuna (Garinagu in the plural) are dark-skinned .African descendents, mostly Spanish speaking, mixed with indigenous groups of Central America, such as the Arawak and the Caribs. The Garífuna people can be found in Belize, Guatemala, Honduras, and Nicaragua. Their first language, Garífuna, has its roots among the indigenous, the French, the Spanish, and a smattering of African languages. 

After slave ships were wrecked on the island of St. Vincent in the 1600s, Africans found refuge with the indigenous populations forming a whole new ethnic group, the Garinagu (plural of Garífuna). 

The Bronx, in New York City holds the largest community 

 of Garífuna people in the US.

There were Afro-Latinos in the forum who agreed with Sulma Arzu-Brown stressing the fact that the Garingau speak a different language and eat different kinds of food from other blacks and Latin-American people. In fact, a woman from Guatemala stated to me personally that the Garífuna people in her country are not real Guatemalans; they have their own culture.

 

What I gathered from the article, the discussion, and from my own interaction with Garinagu friends is the pride in their unique history and culture and fear of the loss of their identity and being absorbed into more dominant groups like African Americans, Puerto Ricans, or Dominicans. 

Certainly, the Garífuna (or Garinagu) people are “black.” After all, it was Sulma's mother who decided to leave Honduras because she was denied a promotion at her banking job because of her skin color. The Garinagu are indeed Latino because they are citizens of Spanish-speaking countries. As one Garífuna man puts it, we are a very proud people who maintained our language, culture, and customs. Garífuna, Black, and Latino are all the same and we are proud of all three.

“Nueba Yol”—the Dominican Republic in New York City

Washington Heights, an area of northern Manhattan in New York City is where many immigrants from the Dominican Republic live.

It was at a Latino Film Festival in nearby Berkeley, CA where the film Nueba Yol was being introduced. It was about a man from the Dominican Republic who moved to New York, known as Nueba Yol to his countryman. He was able to enter the US illegally and outsmarted the system to become legal. During the 1990's there was a heavy influx of legal and illegals from the Dominican Republic into the US, and about 41% of them arrived in New York City (Nueba Yol), greatly surpassing the Puerto Rican community as the largest Latino group in the city, and the fifth-largest Latino group in the US, after Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans (stateside), Cuban Americans, and Salvadoran Americans.

Recently, I took advantage of my long, overdue vacation to New York City where I grew up by visiting a community directly north of Harlem with over 150,000 residents (as of 2010) and where my mother attended church. I personally refer to this area as “Dominican Harlem.” I hopped on the A-train that used to drop me off at my old apartment building in Harlem to Washington Heights, the real name for this community known to Dominicans as Quisqueya Heights. Quisqueya is the original name of the Dominican Republic before the Spanish invaded the island.

Fortunately for me, my visit to this community came after the years of heavy crimes, such as drugs and gang violence died down. In 2011, Washington Heights became the fourth-safest neighborhood in New York's borough of Manhattan, according to one analysis of police records. However, I still made sure I went through Dominican Harlem in broad daylight, and out before nightfall. I had such great experiences interacting with members of the community (in Spanish), and with great customer service in two well-known Dominican restaurants; El Malecón and Albert's Mofongo House, which inspired me to leave larger than normal tips. In the Mofongo House, not only did I have a great seafood meal, there was jazz, salsa, merengue, and bachata music playing in the background.

Sadly, like other ethnic groups in the history of Washington Heights, and like other ethnic communities of color around the country, gentrification is slowly breaking up Dominican Harlem. Due to rising rents and other costs, families and friends who lived in this area for years are being scattered, and widening the gap between rich and poor. Dominican political power in the city is also being realigned. Even though Dominicans still make up 73 percent of Washington (Quisqueya) Heights, their moves to the Bronx have made room for other Latinos groups.

According to a study conducted by the Dominican Studies Institute at the City University of New York, about 90% of the contemporary Dominican population has ancestry from West and Central Africa^. However, most Dominicans do not identify themselves as black. The colonial and political events in the Dominican Republic directed against Afro Dominicans have left emotional scars causing a rejection of their "blackness."

Also, during Haitian rule of the Dominican Republic between 1822 and 1844, Afro-centrism was pushed, which the Dominicans refused. The Dominican Dictator Rafael Trujillo, who ruled between 1930 and 1961, tenaciously promoted the anti-Haitian sentiment and used racial persecution and nationalistic fervor against the Haitians. He is considered blamed for creating the many racial categories that avoided the use of the word "black," and in 1955, he promoted an emigration from Spain to his country to "whiten" the Dominican population. Afro-Dominican poet Blas Jiménez states: under Trujillo, there was nothing worse than being black.

Ghetto-Fabulous Hip-Hop from Colombia (South America)

Barring few exceptions I've never been a fan of hip hop, however; due to my ardent interest in the world of Black Latin America, I sought to explore and take a look the Colombian hip hop scene being they have the third largest black population in the western world behind Brazil and the US. This Latin Grammy Award-winning Afro-Colombian rap group is from the Colombia's predominately black department (state/province) called Chocó in western Colombia where the capital is Quibdo, thus the ghetto-fabulous name of the rap group—Choc Quib Town.

The group consists of Carlos "Tostao" Valencia (rapping), his wife Gloria "Goyo" Martínez (singing and rapping), and Gloria's brother Miguel "Slow" Martínez (production and rapping). Gloria Martinez got turned onto hip hop when she spent some time in the seaport town of Buenaventura where she met African-American sailors. When the band play live they are joined on stage by Milton Jurado (guitar), Jhon Sanchez (electric bass and backing vocals), Larry Viveros (tambora, congas and marimba) and Andrés Zea (drums).

The band named themselves after the city and department that they had grown up in:The band played at the "Hip Hop al Parque" festival in Colombia's nation capital of Bogotá in 2004 and won the competition for best band at the festival, their prize being 10 million pesos (~$500.00).
Their first album, Somos Pacífico (We are the Pacific) (2006), was recorded and released independently. Their music and live shows were gaining a reputation, and in 2008 ChocQuibTown signed to Nacional Records and released their second album, Oro (Gold). The album also became their first international release.

The group undertook an extensive world tour in 2010 (including over 40 dates in Europe alone.