Living at the Margins of Three Worlds

As an Afro-Puerto Rican woman I live at the margins. To be Afro-Puerto Rican or Afro Latina is to learn how to negotiate three worlds without being fully a part of any of them.

The "White world," not wanting to acknowledge that there are African descendants everywhere on the globe, embraces Afro-Latino culture whenever there is a new "Latin" fad. African Americans often remind us that "we are not really Black," because we are falsely viewed as foreign to the United States Black civil rights experience. And to fair-skinned Latinos who want to be White, Afro Latinos are marginal and at the bottom of the pot like "como el pegao," encrusted, burnt rice.

We face more difficulty getting an education and finding jobs, not only outside our communities, but within them as well. Statistics show that even with more education than our "White" Latino counterparts we have far fewer opportunities.

Puerto Rico has been a U.S. possession since 1898, and Americans exported and imposed their Eurocentric history, their racism and their discriminatory practices in the name of civilizing the island. The dual social structures created by legal segregation in the United States created parallel systems in Puerto Rico and other U.S.dominated islands in the Caribbean. These imposed racial practices affirmed the dominance and privilege of Whiteness as they vilified Blackness.

Growing up in East Harlem, one of my best friends was Cynthia, an African American. She would laugh at the music played in my house because the words were foreign to her. But this didn't stop her from moving to the beat of the driving conga drums as my brother taught us to mambo in our living room. Cynthia and I shared the same caramel complexion, dark brown textured hair and height. We often said we were blood sisters. Cynthia was like a member of our family. Yet my grandmother, whose grandparents were probably born into slavery, too frequently reminded me that Cynthia was "una negra" (Black) and I was Puerto Rican. The message was clear - to be Puerto Rican removed or softened my Blackness and made me Whiter.

The concept and practice of "adelantando Ia raza" (advancing the race) encourages Afro-Puerto Ricans and other Afro-Latinos to marry White, making certain that the children will continue to become lighter and enter the circle of privilege and dominance. The fact that most Puerto Ricans and Afro Latino families have the full spectrum of skin color within our families makes this concept contradictory, painful and divisive within our own families.

When I was a little girl, my dark-complexioned father called me his "Negrita Linda"(pretty Black little girl). As a teenager, my light-skinned mother encouraged me to marry a light-skinned man. My mother, wanting the best for her future grandchildren and me, advised that with my curly kinky hair I should marry a man with "good hair" so that my children would have "wavy hair and have lighter skin like hers." "Adelanta Ia raza," she reminded me. "You don't want to be like the tail of a dog, always at the back."

My parents saw no contradiction in the music of Afro-Puerto Ricans such as Ismael Rivera, Cortijo y Su Combo, Tito Puente, Celia Cruz, Tito Rodriguez, and Machito and the Afro-Cubans, filling our home. The African rhythms reminded us that Puerto Rico was home, and Black traditions were a vibrant part of our legacy. The music defined and influenced our philosophy, thinking, family life, walk and style. The lyrics spoke of our struggles with our understanding of race, identity, culture, nationalism and family.

Our songs sent mixed messages. One ridiculed the fullness and color of our lips, "Tienes La Bemba Color" (You Have Big Red Lips), while another spoke our beauty, "Las Caras Lindas de Mi Gente Negra" (The Beautiful Faces of My Black People).

Our songs taught us the philosophy, ethics and moral values of our ancestors. The divine rhythms of the drums entered our bodies as we celebrated our historical legacy. It was this music, derived from our sacred African traditions that traveled to the Americas, that reminded us of our endless intelligence and power.

Marta Morena Vega is president and founder of The Franklin H. Williams Caribbean Cultural Center African Diaspora Institute.

Copyright Crisis Publishing Company, Incorporated Jan/Feb 2004
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