Tuesday, October 31, 2006

The Myth of Latino Brown-ness

Language conspires against us. How to make ourselves understood and at the same time speak in a way that does not perpetuate crazy myths?

For example: “Black” is used as a synonym for African American in the U.S. and, more and more often African Americans and Latinos are spoken about using the language of skin color: “Blacks and Browns.”

But is brown a useful label when so many Latinos are (whether by looks or by ancestry) just as black or even “blacker” than many African Americans? Is brown a useful label to describe Latinos ranging from the milkiest skin-toned to the ebony complexioned?





(Below, a great and scary example of racial disparities and myths in Latin America, courtesy of a Colombian travel site.)



The work of photographer Luis M. Salazar, born in El Salvador in 1974, was showcased last year at the S-Files collective exhibit at El Museo del Barrio in East Harlem.



The photo series is titled Spark La Música: Hip Hop en español in New York City, 2003-2005 and features artists like La Bruja, Enemigo, Don Divino, Inti and El Meswy. Considering the huge range of skin tones evident in the photos (from Don Divino and Inti’s deep brown skin to La Bruja’s and El Meswy’s cream-colored complexions) the text accompanying the photos struck me: “They come from [description of their various regional backgrounds]. And besides their color of skin and mother tongue, they all share the love of hip-hop culture.” I wondered: How can the text state these artists share a “color” while the photographic evidence right next to those words screams to the contrary?

“They are the ‘brown’ people,” states the exhibit text, curiously placing “brown” in quotation marks, but still describing their skin color as uniform.

To add yet another spin to the matter, while the above mentioned hip hop artists featured in Salazar’s photo series are from Latin America (Puerto Rico and Colombia), El Meswy is from Spain. So not only is this European artist being incorporated into the definition of Latino, but he is also endowed with the mythical brown-ness of Latinos and Latin Americans. It is a brown-ness that, though using the language of racial phenotypes (looks), stands as a synonym for a Latino pan-ethnicity that reaches across the Atlantic to Spain: to the “motherland” or “evil stepmotherland” of Latin Americans, depending on who you ask.

Some people insist that describing Latinos as brown is appropriate because we are supposedly all mixed. Yet, describing all Latinos as brown is tricky considering some of us are more mixed than others; also considering that some of us are just as mixed as African Americans, Native Americans, Asians or whites in the U.S.; also considering that some of us are not mixed at all; AND, also considering that depending on how mixed you are, you get treated differently, courtesy of Latino and Latin American-style racism and self-hatred.

Other people say that Latino brown-ness is just a convenient label that uses the language of skin color but really points beyond race. They say that brown-ness is a good symbolic way for Latinos to bridge our racial differences. But I do not buy it. This all sounds way too much like Mexican writer Jose Vasconselos’ dangerous myth of the “cosmic race” from back in the 1920s or like 1930s Puerto Rican writer Tomas Blanco playing down Latin American racism as “a kid’s game” compared to racism in the U.S.. Using the label brown to describe all Latinos sounds like a re-packaging of the old myth of “racial democracy” in Latin America.

As long as white is the color of privilege among Latinos and Latin Americans, pretending we are all brown sounds like a terrible idea to me. How can we address racial conflict, differences and inequality among Latinos if, supposedly, we are all brown?

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Los boricuas no comen mangu… Thoughts on Ethnic Chauvinism and Racial Exclusion

The other day I attended an amazing Boricua roots music block party at the Casita de Chema in the Bronx: plena and bomba galore, courtesy of Bomplenazo 2006. I was intensely enjoying myself until one of the verses sung from the stage got caught in my ears, my brain, my heart.

I wish I could remember verbatim what the singer said in Spanish, but it was something to the effect of: I dont eat mangu; I eat mofongo because I am a proud Puerto Rican.

Huh?

Now really, what is the relevance or purpose of basing our Puerto Ricanness on the food we (supposedly) do not eat? Specially, when that food (though mofongo's cousin) has its incomparable charms and, we could argue, is just as much ours, since it is Caribbean. (And, last time I checked, we are still all Caribbean.)

Chill, I told myself. Its just a silly, unimportant statement. But it was so silly that it worried me. Its upon this kind of silliness that larger silliness rests on. And on and on until it turns into a big ludicrous situation. Those silly verses catapulted me into a flashback.

Twas the night of the Puerto Rican Day Parade. Lets call this story: El mini-Tego y la presunta no-boricua

Estamos en el Club Exit la noche del Desfile Puertorriqueño. La discoteca esta forrada de jovenes que perrean con desenfreno y cantan euforicos a la par del Abayarde. Tego recorre el escenario con su gracia y aplomo caracteristicos, inclinandose microfono en mano frente a alguno de los asistentes para dejarlo o dejarla rapear varios versos.



Alguien imita las inflecciones vocales (el mentadisimo flow) de Tego de manera tal que este le tiende la mano y lo sube al escenario. De entre la muchedumbre surge un joven minusculo, aun mas bajito que Tego, coronado por un gloriosamente enorme afro. El look y la habilidad rapeadora del muchacho arranca enardecidos aplausos, brincos, silbidos y gritos a los presentes. Al final de la intervencion de su mini-doble, Tego le da las gracias y le pregunta su nombre. Casi no escucho el nombre que ofrece en respuesta, pero si los gruñidos y suspiros desencantados del publico cuando dice: yo soy dominicano pero...

Ya violadas las presunciones nacionales del publico, de nada le sirve al mini-Tego su declaracion de amor y respeto por los puertorriqueños y su musica. La leccion? El Dia del Desfile Puertorriqueño las frustraciones se canalizan orgulleciendonos de ser lo que otra gente (supuestamente) no es. Ese dia no es buen momento para intentar cruzar fronteras, por inmateriales que sean.

Y eso que el rapeador dominicano mantuvo su credibilidad intacta hasta que declaro ser de la isla no homenajeada de la noche. Peor suerte tuvo la muchacha que antes de Tego subir al escenario se habia encuerado hasta mostrar sus grietas mas reconditas (ninguna de las otras dizque concursantes se atrevio a tanto) para deleite de la perreadora concurrencia.

De hecho, los aplausos del publico la habian declarado ganadora hasta que al presentador se le ocurrio decir: Pero esta mujer no me tiene cara de boricua. Ustedes creen que esta mujer es boricua?

Un rumor interrogativo recorrio la multitud y acto seguido se empezaron a oir los abucheos. Que le decimos a esta?, pregunto el presentador al bien entrenado publico. El gentio estallo a coro: Pintate pal carajo!

A mi alrededor zumbaban los detalles: Esa seguro era dominicana, dijo una. She is obviously African American, dijo otro. La primera respondio: Claro, una puertorriqueña no iba a ser tan fresca.

El mini-Tego quedo descartado cuando abrio la boca y dijo que era dominicano. Pero a la muchacha la descalificaron mucho antes de poder pronunciar palabra. Mientras que la piel acaramelada del mini-Tego no desperto mayores sospechas, la piel de la presunta no-boricua era reluciente azabache. Y asi, ella tambien fue desterrada del colectivo que esa noche celebraba su orgullo nacional, quien sabe si con su puertorriqueñidad clavada en su negra garganta.

All I have left to say is:

Too black to be Puerto Rican?!
(Award-winning writer (and one of my heroes), Mayra Santos Febres.)

And, is this what Puerto Ricans must deny for the sake of national pride?


If we insist on being so narrow-minded, we will keep missing out on most of what WE are.

Monday, October 02, 2006

As if "Blackness" and "Latino-ness" Don't Intersect

Last week in class, I had a hell of a hard time explaining that blackness and the African diaspora in the Americas include LatinAmericans/Latinos. Students were very resistant to the concept that "The Black Atlantic" can include Latin America. The most difficult assumption to break (in their case) is that the music of the English and French-speaking Caribbean is somehow "blacker" (across the board) than the music of the Spanish-speaking Caribbean.

It was an odd discussion we had. Their objections were based more on preconceived notions than facts but they were nevertheless very resistant to the facts. I had no audiovisual material at the moment (aside from reggae and reggaeton tracks) to make it all more concrete for them, so I have been looking for the best ammunition possible to put the matter to rest once and for all. I am confident some musical/visual material will persuade them.

I have access to some early 90s documentaries on music and the African diaspora, like Routes of Rhythm. I can also play clips from the JVC/Smithsonian video collection on Caribbean roots music. But I am wondering if anyone has anything else to recommend.

A recent documentary that illustrates musically The Black Atlantic (Paul Gilroy's book) or "The Caribbean as a Musical Region" (Kenneth Bilby's article) would be ideal, particularly if it includes more contemporary expressions like hip hop and reggaeton.

Where is that documentary? I can't find it! Does it just not exist? Does this mean that it is up to one of us to make it (or somehow facilitate the making of it)?