Who We’ll Be After This

We’re All About to Be More Upfront About Ethnicity

I realize I need to show up as a Latina, because otherwise we all miss out

Being “multiethnic” in today’s America is a little bit like being invisible and eavesdropping on someone’s conversation, except that in this case, I’m part of the conversation and people are saying these things right to my face.

I identify as Latina; my father is Puerto Rican and my mother is White. My appearance — my existence — confuses some people. My ethnicity is immediately obvious to other people in the Latinx community, who approach me and begin speaking Spanish. Only White people find me to be ambiguous in appearance, and openly make offensive comments, referring to Latinx people as “they,” assuming I’m with them on the “we” side.

For example, on my last day at a job where I’d worked for four years, I stopped outside the office of a colleague who apparently had never thought much about my background. We chatted for a few moments before she started complaining about people speaking Spanish. “They need to learn our language, Luisa,” she said. “They can’t just come here and make us change things around to accommodate them. Hispanics. Minorities. They’re taking over. We have to watch out.”

I stared at her, openmouthed. “But, but, that’s me,” I said. “I’m Puerto Rican.”

“Well, you’re different.”

I didn’t make an empowering, educational statement. I didn’t storm out. I slouched back to my desk, feeling bad. I knew exactly what “you’re different” meant.

My whole life, I’d let rude or misguided statements about ethnicity slide. Now I realize that I want to tell people that it’s important for them to get it right. This is about more than smoothing out an awkward social interaction. This is about having an opportunity to stand up as a Latina, as myself, and it’s an act of service.

Iris López, a professor in the sociology department at City College and the director of Latin American & Latino Studies, and author of Matters of Choice: Puerto Rican Women’s Struggle for Reproductive Freedom, puts it this way: “‘You’re different’ is a code for, we do not fit into the negative stereotype… we are not loud, have style, are fair skinned, are educated, have money,” she says.

López also points out that some people consider “You’re different” to be a form of praise — “a left-handed compliment,” as she puts it. My colleague’s offense felt pretty egregious to me, but the thing is, we all have conversations like this every day, often without realizing it.

I’d been hearing this message my whole life in lots of ways, and if you’re mixed race or ethnically ambiguous you probably have, too. Someone once asked about my ethnicity and then said, “At least your mother is White.” At a wedding I attended, the photographer joked that he was glad there were no Puerto Rican women there, since he’d have to airbrush out their facial hair later. (I had no idea that was even a stereotype.) An ex of mine questioned the presence of a Latino when we walked through a wealthy neighborhood. The list goes on, and the microaggressions are almost always from people who would never consider themselves to be racist or prejudiced in any way.

“When we are younger, we don’t know what to say to someone who speaks to us like this,” says López, who is Puerto Rican. This certainly rings true for me; polite and eager to please, my initial reaction was to withdraw and feel like crap. “But as we age, we realize it’s not a compliment but an ethnic slur. It is exhausting to hear the same tiring insult from others all of our lives, and worse to think we have to fix it.”

It’s unsettling to find out that the White people you encounter, both casually and intimately, are thinking horrible things about you and your relatives. And I totally get wanting to change the subject and sidestep that discomfort. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve leaned into speaking up. I don’t need to feel unsettled; they do. (Of course, checking in that you are not in a dangerous situation is important; not all conversations are safe spaces.)

These days, I feel more connected than ever to my heritage. Part of this is just getting older and the pleasant side effect of caring less what people think. And maybe part of it is the racial reckoning our country is going through. There’s no place for letting “subtle” ethnic slurs slide anymore. When someone makes an ignorant “joke,” I tell them I’m Latina and that what they’ve said is not okay. It may make for an uncomfortable situation. But really, the people who say the inappropriate things are the ones who are making the situation uncomfortable, and by speaking up I’m actually committing an act of kindness — towards them, because maybe they’ll do better next time, and towards the next “ethnically ambiguous” person they encounter.

You may be thinking to yourself, “I’d never say anything like that.” But feeling strongly that you’re not racist may not actually prevent you from saying racist things. The best way to avoid this is to listen instead of speak, to share information instead of leaning into old assumptions and beliefs that might feel comfortable and harmless, but are actually ignorant and hurtful.

“Showing up for who we are, with no apologies, is the best way to protect ourselves from and to avoid internalizing the toxicity of someone else’s ignorance and racism,” advises López. She also suggested that I might explain to people that “You’re different” isn’t a compliment, but rather an ethnic slur that reveals how much the speaker needs to learn about Latinx communities.

While the burden is certainly not on me, or other people of color, to educate the ignorant, speaking my truth is an offering. And I hope a new perspective will take shape; a perspective that’s not black and white, but richly shaded.