Being a white-presenting Latina in a post-Rachel Dolezal America

Originally published on The Radical Notion

I have always been extremely pale. Growing up my mom would tell me that there are Puerto Ricans with pale skin, dark skin, blonde hair, red hair, etc. and that it doesn’t matter what color my skin is, yo soy Latina. My mom might have been right, but I am also white.

Unless I tell someone specifically that I am Puerto Rican, neither my name nor my appearance hints that I grew up eating rice and beans as often as my white friends ate macaroni and cheese. For most of my life, I lacked the appropriate way to describe myself. It wasn’t until I read an article from Everyday Feminism that I stumbled across the phrase “white-presenting.”

Because I can pass as white, I benefit daily from white privilege. And because I am also Latina, I have a rich cultural history that I can claim as my heritage. In the two weeks since the Rachel Dolezal story has broken, I’ve had ample time to consider what her selfish and inconsiderate choice means to white-presenting people. I am disgusted by her decision to masquerade as a black American, thus laying claim to a history and a lived experience that she has no right to. But at the core of my anger, is also fear. Am I just like her? Do white-presenting people have a right to refer to themselves publicly as their minority status?

Very early on I choose to be white in public. My school was mostly white; my friends were mostly white, and I had no other Latina role models other than my family. When I moved away to college, I tried to connect with the other Latinas on campus. But because I don’t speak Spanish, I felt awkward around other Latinas who freely spoke Spanish in the College Center. Again, I buried my ethnicity beneath pale skin and a New Jersey accent. I was so successful at this denial that the few times I mentioned my Hispanic upbringing, my college boyfriend would remark, “but you aren’t REALLY Hispanic.”

I find it hard to read about Rachel Dolezal because her deception was so successful. Not only did she alter her appearance, she lived in such a way that no one challenged her self-identity. For too long I fearfully hid my ethnicity so that I could avoid those awkward encounters with my peers when they would snidely say “you don’t look Puerto Rican” or “but you can’t speak Spanish.” Of course, there is one major difference between Rachel and myself– she is NOT black, and thus has no rightful claim to call herself that, while I was raised by a Puerto Rican mother and Irish father. I can declare myself to be two ethnicities and connected to two vastly different cultures. And yet, I am still fearful.

The central issue of Rachel’s deception is a momentous and hurtful lie; she lied to herself and those around her concerning her ethnicity. But, I lied as well. Every time that I laughed off someone challenging my identify as a Puerto Rican woman, I lied to myself and told myself that it wasn’t important that the world acknowledged who I was. But I was wrong. It is tremendously important that the world recognize that even though I may present as white, I carry within my veins a rich history of colonialism, poverty, bilingualism, Julia Alvarez’s wit, and el barrio. Watching Dolezal confront America has reminded me how important it is to be true to one’s self. Although, I may look white, I have a birthright to proudly explore my Latina heritage. Dolezal has reminded me of my right to proudly explore the world as a Latina.

Gracias Rachel. Yo soy Latina.