Black Director of One of Worlds Most Popular Salsa Groups

Ithier Nadal (above)

El Gran Combo de Puerto Rico (below)

 

For over 50 years, Ithier Nadal has been director, pianist, and composer in one of the world’s most popular salsa groups that ever existed formerly known as El Gran Combo (the Great Salsa Combo) of Puerto Rico. Today, he is the last remaining originals of the group and continues to tour with the group. In 2012, El Gran Combo celebrated its 50^th Anniversary with a grand world tour through five continents.

In Colombia, South America where salsa music is big, El Gran Combo became known as La Universidad de la Salsa (The University of Salsa) because of so many famous salsa stars, including Andy Montañez, Celia Cruz, and Hector Lavoe developed their careers singing with the group.

In the beginning, Ithier Nadal became an expert guitarist and was later inspired by his sister to play the piano. He was of the Tito Henriquez group, Taone. Rafael Cortijo’s orchestra (an old friend from childhood), called “Cortijo y su Combo,” and a New York group named the "Borinqueneers Mambo Boys." Borinquen is the old name for Puerto Rico before the invasion of Christopher Columbus.

Latin American Etiquette (with the Ladies)

One morning, on my way to work in Oakland, CA, a woman and I boarded a city bus. Having been taught some manners as a child, I stepped back so the woman can board first. In a frustrated tone, she snapped at me, “go ahead!” With a suit yourself attitude and a shrug, I boarded the bus ahead of her. The transit operator (female) and I had a good laugh as she reminded me that times are changing. Trying to be a gentleman is not so much en vogue anymore. And speaking of ladies, I’ve met women here in the US who bitterly resent being called a lady. Woman is the politically correct term. Not all USA women, of course, share this sentiment, but enough to make me wonder.

On another occasion, I was riding a metro train (BART) from San Francisco to Oakland, and there was a Spanish-speaking immigrant couple standing over me conversing. With times changing, as alluded to by the female bus driver, I normally do not give up my seat unless it is for an elderly or disabled person (male or female). However, seizing an opportunity to practice my Spanish, I offered the women my seat. She smiled, seemingly pleasantly surprised to meet a gentleman in the United States of America, and responded with gracias, muy amable (thank you, you are so kind).

As I go about my Latin American vacations trying to fit in as much as gringo-ly possible, I’ve literally asked the friends that I made in those countries about proper etiquette. Of the many things they shared was that a gentleman absolutely gives up his seat for a lady on public transportation; a gentleman permits a lady to go first, such as boarding a bus, and the ladies expect it.

One hectic evening in a Quito, Ecuador bus station, I was waiting in line to buy a bus ticket back to Lima, Perú. Being next in line, I stepped forward as soon as a window became vacant. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, a woman swooped past me towards the vacant window. Irritated, I snapped, con permiso señora, pero estaba aquí primero (excuse me, ma’am, but I was here first)! The ticket clerk looked at me as if I was from another planet, not to mention another country. To get even, she gave me, what I found out later to be, inaccurate information. I shared this incident with an Ecuadorian lady-friend hoping to learn a little more about cultural sensitivity, and was told that it is an Ecuadorian federal law that pregnant women, seniors (male and female), and the disabled (male or female) get to go the head of the line. The woman I confronted was neither pregnant, a senior, nor disabled, thus, I’m still up-in-the-air about as to  where I went wrong in my assertiveness.

When I land on Latin American soil, I find it necessary to change my paradigm when relating to women. In Latin-America, as in other parts of the world, the women’s movement have not come close to the advances made here in the US. Women in these countries generally hold positions where the disparity between male and female pay is far greater than that in the US. And the old-school customs that were practiced when I was a child growing up are still common place in Latin American countries. However, as I continue to explore Latin American cultures while improving my Spanish, I will need to keep abreast of their women’s movement because it is active and slowly gaining momentum.

Who Is Black? A Latina Asserts Her Identity!

I was just an 18-year-old Freshman at the State University of New York at Albany where one Saturday morning, a group black students gathered in front of our dormitory, Anthony Hall, and headed into town to network with active members of the city’s black community. Julio, whose family hails from the Dominican Republic, was one of the first to join us. As a naive 18-year-old kid surprised by his presence, I made a terribly ignorant remark to him, but you’re not black! Calmly shaking his head, Julio's response was, don’t piss me off in the morning. Another classmate rightfully frowned and scolded me for it.

The truth of the matter is that Julio is indeed the same complexion as I, and I'm black. What a lot of people, including many African-Americans, evidently do not understand is that slave ships set sail for the Spanish-speaking countries more than 100 years before they set sail for the US. In fact, there were blacks, slave and free, marching among the Spanish conquistadors.

Had Julio, who is very well read,  been in the mood that morning, he, with all of his academic prowess would have probably said the same thing to me as the writer of this article, Rosa Clemente, says to those whom she meets and try to deny her African heritage for no other reason than the fact that she is “Puerto Rican.” I just love how she breaks it down. 

Who's Black?
By: Rosa Clemente
This article was originally published Final Call newspaper.

Yesterday, an interesting thing happened to me. I was told I am not Black.

The kicker for me was when my friend stated that the island of Puerto Rico was not a part of the African Diaspora. I wanted to go back to the old school playground days and yell: “You said what about my momma?!” But after speaking to several friends, I found out that many Black Americans and Latinos agree with him. The miseducation of the Negro is still in effect!

I am so tired of having to prove to others that I am Black, that my peoples are from the Motherland, that Puerto Rico, along with Cuba, Panama and the Dominican Republic, are part of the African Diaspora. Did we forget that the slave ships dropped off our people all over the world, hence the word Diaspora?The Atlantic slave trade brought Africans to Puerto Rico in the early 1500s. Some of the first slave rebellions took place on the island of Puerto Rico. Until 1846, Africanos on the island had to carry a libreta to move around the island, like the passbook system in apartheid South Africa. In Puerto Rico, you will find large communities of descendants of the Yoruba, Bambara, Wolof and Mandingo people. Puerto Rican culture is inherently African culture.

There are hundreds of books that will inform you, but I do not need to read book after book to legitimize this thesis. All I need to do is go to Puerto Rico and look all around me. Damn, all I really have to do is look in the mirror every day.I am often asked what I am—usually by Blacks who are lighter than me and by Latinos/as who are darker than me.

To answer the $100,000, 000 question, I am a Black Boricua, Black Rican, Puertorriqueña! Almost always I am questioned about why I choose to call myself Black over Latina, Spanish, Hispanic. Let me break it down.I am not Spanish. Spanish is just another language I speak. I am not a Hispanic. My ancestors are not descendants of Spain, but descendants of Africa. I define my existence by race and land. (Borinken is the indigenous name of the island of Puerto Rico.).

Being Latino is not a cultural identity but rather a political one. Being Puerto Rican is not a racial identity, but rather a cultural and national one. Being Black is my racial identity. Why do I have to consistently explain this to those who are so-called conscious? Is it because they have a problem with their identity? Why is it so bad to assert who I am, for me to big-up my Africanness?

My Blackness is one of the greatest powers I have. We live in a society that devalues Blackness all the time. I will not be devalued as a human being, as a child of the Supreme Creator.

Although many of us in activist circles are enlightened, many of us have baggage that we must deal with. So many times I am asked why many Boricuas refuse to affirm their Blackness. I attribute this denial to the ever-rampant anti-Black sentiment in America and throughout the world, but I will not use this as an excuse. Often Puerto Ricans who assert our Blackness are not only outcast by Latinos who identify more with their Spanish Conqueror than their African ancestors, but we are also shunned by Black Americans who do not see us as Black.

Nelly Fuller, a great Black sociologist, stated: “Until one understands the system of White supremacy, anything and everything else will confuse you.” Divide and conquer still applies.

Listen people: Being Black is not just skin color, nor is it synonymous with Black Americans. To assert who I am is the most liberating and revolutionary thing I can ever do. Being a Black Puerto Rican encompasses me racially, ethically and most importantly, gives me a homeland to refer to.

So I have come to this conclusion: I am whatever I say I am! (Thank you, Rakim.)

*First posted in The Final Call on July 10, 2011

*****

Rosa Alicia Clemente is a Bronx born Puerto Rican woman. She is a community organizer, journalist, Hip Hop activist and the 2008 Vice-Presidential candidate with the GREEN PARTY. She is currently a doctoral student in the W.E.B. DuBois Department of Afro-American Studies at UMASS-Amherst and is writing her first book entitled When a Puerto Rican Woman Ran for Vice-President and Nobody Knew Her Name. For more information about Rosa and her work, visit http://www.rosaclemente.org/

The Black Population of Nicaragua

It was at the Caribee Dance Center, my salsa music hangout in Oakland, CA, where I noticed a black guy consistently dancing so smoothly with the ladies. Every time I see a black salsero (salsa dancer), I usually figure that he may be from New York, Puerto Rico, or Cuba. Eventually, he and I met and got into a brief conversation. I asked where he is from. When he responded with... Nicaragua, I snapped in utter astonishment, you’re kidding! The brother was speechless because I was just one more American letting a piece of my ignorance slip out into the open. I really should have known better because other Nicaraguans told me of a sizable black population in their home country. I even saw a film on Black Nicaragua at a Latin-American cultural center. But none of that stuck in my mind until I myself met this black Nicaraguan brother staring me in face. Now Bluefields, a predominately black community on the east coast of Nicaragua, is on my list of places to visit.

The predominately black city of Bluefields, Nicaragua

Blacks make up at least 10% of Nicaragua's population (almost 600,000 according to the CIA Fact Book). They mainly reside on the country's sparsely populated Caribbean or Atlantic coast, better known as the Mosquito Coast. The people are mostly of descendants of indentured laborers brought mostly from Jamaica when the region was a British protectorate. There is also a smaller number of Garífuna, a people of mixed African and indigenous heritage who originally came from the island of St. Vincent where they rebelled against British slave traders, migrated to the Honduran coast, and from there, spread to the rest of the Central American coast, which includes Nicaragua.

Slaves first began arriving in Nicaragua as servants of the Spanish Conquistadors and of civil and religious officials in the early part of 16th century. Most of the Spanish who emigrated to the Americas were men who interbred with indigenous and black slaves. So, as early as the eighteenth century, most of the Nicaraguan slaves were mulattos. By 1820, those with a quarter black blood and other mixtures made up 84% of the population. After the British withdrawal from the Nicaragua’s Caribbean coast, it remained an autonomous region for 44 years with its own laws and regulations before the president of  Nicaragua, José Santos Zelaya, reintegrated the area and built the Nicaraguan government institutions and structures, forming schools, police, government, etc.

  Black Nicaraguan Group known as Soul Vibrations

Barrio Spanish (of the Hood)

 

Cuba:  ¿qué bola, asere (what’s up, bruh or dawg [dog])?

Perú: ¿qué pasó, familia? (what’s up bruh [primarily used by Afro-Peruvians])?

Venezuela: ¿epa, primo? = What’s up, cuz (short for cousin)

I started getting into barrio Spanish (of the hood) when I first saw the film “American Me” where I I picked up on words like órale (cool, all-right) and ¿entiendez mendez? (you know what I’m sayin’?). Because I currently live in a region of the US where there is a large Mexican-American population, I decided to buy a dictionary of Mexican slang entitled “El Libro de Caló.”  However, I stopped using such words in my communication with Spanish speakers who are not of Mexican ancestry because a friend I went to school with in New York got very upset as he reminded me that he is “Puerto Rican,” not “Mexican,” and that he does not use such words nor does he appreciate my using those words in addressing him. Perhaps, he would have felt better if I had used some Puerto Rican slang words like Que es la que estapa?,Que es la que? (what's up?) .

When I was in Cuba, people in the community taught me some of their slang words, like ¡consorte monina mongo! (it’s all good, bruh!).” Then there was one of my favorite Cuban songs entitled Hay Que Estar Arriba de La Bola, (you have to be on top of everything.
After my Cuban trip, I took it upon myself to go on the Internet and download slang words for each country that I planned to visit. That way, when I hear such words, I’ll understand the true meaning in its context. For example, in my first trip to Perú, there was a woman whom a new friend wanted me to meet, and he described her as toda bacán, (a wonderful person). Were it not for my slang research prior to my trip, he would have been unwittingly talking way over my head.

However, I began to realize something very disappointing. The slang words that are so popular in the barrios (the hood) of class-conscious Latin-America are considered trashy among the well-educated and the economically well-to-do. I remember on the University of Havana campus where I was undergoing Spanish-language intensive training, I greeted a classmate with ¿qué bola (what’s up)? The Spanish teacher approached me wagging her finger in my face admonishing me not to talk like that in her class. 

Now, when I travel to a Latin-American country, I realize that I have to use discretion with the words I use in reference to whom I’m addressing. Personally, I love barrio Spanish (hood lingo). I love the culture in the barrios, and as my longtime friend, Juan from Venezuela puts it, “the barrio is where the real culture is.” I agree because the Latin-American music that I enjoy most and that has gained such wide-spread notoriety like son-montuno of Cuba (the mother of salsa music), bachata of the Dominica republic, and landó of Perú were all born in the barrios, and were all at one time considered trashy and low class by those born with silver spoons in their mouths. Today, those genres of music are national treasures.