"BLACKTINO" Identity and Affirmations of Black Puerto Rican Pride

I was soooo pissed. I spent an HOUR preparing a blog post about the connections between Afro-latinos and South American Ciganos/Gitanos, and, in an instant, it was gone. Completely unretrievable just as I was putting the final touches on it. I wanted to scream. I hated Blogger at that point, I really did, so I had no choice but to let a few days pass before I attempted another blog post. So here it is. Maybe one day I'll remember everything I wrote in my last attempted post. It was really all that, if I must say so myself, so I'll try to post it at some later date.

Despite my tragedy, life did go on, and as I undertook my daily task of scouring the internet for Afro-Latino information, I came across a new word to describe Afro-Latino people: "BLACKTINO". I LOVE IT...completely. I also love the term Black Rican. I discovered these terms when I went to the Blacktino e-news network website. Once there, I came across the article posted below. The article was written by Rosa Clemente, an Afro-Latina or Blacktina of Puerto Rican heritage. She recounts the reasons why she boldly identifies herself as Black and the questions her choice arouses among Anglo-Blacks and other Latinos.

I was always curious about why Puerto Ricans would so eagerly run from any association with Black identity when Afro culture is so visible in the community: in the people, the foods, the dance, the music, etc. Growing up in Philadelphia, there was a large Puerto Rican community, and a large Anglo Black community all within the North Philadelphia section of the city, but the gulf between the two groups was, and sadly still is, very huge. I've witnessed, from a safe distance, Anglo Blacks being chased out of Hispanic neighborhoods and I've witnessed Hispanics teased mercilessly by Anglo Blacks for their poor English language skills and "immigrant" status. The Black Puerto-Ricans were, however, invisible in all this animosity laden activity. We did, however, have an elementary school called Roberto Clemente and both Anglo-Blacks and Puerto Ricans attended the school.

In the Philadelphia of that time period, to have any public facility named after a Black person, Anglo or Latino or otherwise, was a BIG deal. So, even as a child I understood the importance that Roberto had in the city as a visible symbol for people of color. The the Anglo Black community, of which I am also a part, largely viewed him as a member of the perhiphery. Yes, he was undeniably Black, but the establishment of the school was seen largely as a coup for the emerging Puerto Rican community; a victory viewed as coming at the expense of some project supported by the Anglo Blacks. Roberto received the "Obama treatment" before Obama was even old enough to know what he would be in for, you know"...he (Roberto) did not grow up the way that we did so he's not one of us, he doesn't represent us" kind of negrononsense.

Not having been raised in a Jim Crow environment, Roberto possesed the pride and poise that was rarely seen in a Black man of his era. With the exception of Paul Robeson, Malcolm X, Sidney Poitier, Marcus Garvey, few pre-70s era Black men, other than Roberto commanded respect just by their carriage, and presence of being. The Black diaspora would be far better off if we had followed their lead and learned from their examples. These Black men did not see themselves as second class citizens and did not tap dance for anyone. They were psychologically strong and as such were shining symbols of Black male leadership. Of course they all paid a dear price for their strength, but they stood strong, nonetheless. Not only was Roberto a leading baseball player, he had deep concern for Latin America and gave his life trying to help the poor Latinos.

I love that Afro-Latino look he possessed, chocolate skin,ebony eyes, you know what I mean (lol). In recent years the new "Roberto" is Reuben Sierra. Another Afro-Latin baseball man of my dreams. These Puerto Rican men are also Black men, but unfortunately, they are often forced to choose sides, Black or Latino. Roberto explains this dilemma in a biography written about him that was published last year. If you want to understand the "not quite Latin but not quite Black" challenge faced by many Afro-Latinos, I suggest that you buy/read the book about Roberto.

Anyway, here is Rosa's excellent article. Enjoy.

By the way, Merry CHRISTmas!

A Puerto Rican woman claims her place in the African Diaspora Tag it:African Diaspora
Written by Rosa Clemente -Guest Columnist FinalCall
Wednesday, 18 July 2007
Who is Black?
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 skool 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. Do 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 $64,000 question, I am a Black Boricua, Black Rican, PuertoriqueÒa! 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.)

(Rosa Clemente is the youth organizer for the F.R.E.E. Youth Empowerment Program of Central Brooklyn Partnership. She is also an organizer with Malcolm X Grassroots Movement and the co-host of WBAI’s “Where We Live” public affairs program.)