Recently, I attended an event hosted by The New School for Social Research entitled “Latinx: Defining Identity at the Borderlands.” The discussion was heavily focused not only on the term “Latinx” specifically, but what it means to be Latina/o altogether.
First and foremost, I would like to clarify that the term “Latina” has no concrete meaning, and therefore, no right or wrong way to embrace. This term can encompass a number of incredibly different and diverse nations, cultures, religions and languages, spanning from South and Central America, and even some parts of Europe. This is where the problem begins: the grouping together of all women who may or may not share certain superficial attributes. For this article, I will be using the word Latina for myself – as opposed to Latino, Latinx, or Hispanic – because it is the term that I feel best describes me, but it is in no way an assumption that all people with a similar heritage have the same experience as I do. All of the aforementioned terms exist simply as options for those who feel like they may enhance their understanding of their own identity.
Being Latina, for me, has been a journey that meant growing comfortable with my heritage, language, body, sexuality, and intelligence. It has meant coming to terms with the fact that when someone hears my last name, they will give up in trying to pronounce it before they’ve even finished listening to it. It has meant not being ashamed of loving my curves and wanting to show them off while also trying to assure the world around me that I want the priority of my perception to be in my intelligence and talents. It has meant trying to connect what it means to be Brazilian, but have a Cuban family, yet still being able to embrace the home that America has given me all at the same time.
Although being Latina has made me question a lot regarding how other groups of people perceive me, one of the greatest struggles I have had is in that of connecting with the plight of other Latina women who are nothing like me. While the numbers fluctuate, it is said that Latina women are paid 55 cents for every dollar that a white male makes. Coming from an affluent family that had the chance to send me to college in America, however, has made me incapable of connecting to discrimination of that level. Yes, I have been stereotyped and plagued with assumptions, but there is no way I can compare my experience of being Latina to that of other women. At the same time, does that make my experience less relevant?
What the Latinx discussion taught me is that all Latinx experiences are relevant and important, but so is checking your privilege. In my case, that has meant understanding that I benefit from being a white presenting and highly educated woman, while some of my sisters and brothers who also identify as Latinx may not always have the same privilege.
With that in mind, I believe that the most important question for all people of any background to ask is: why are we labeling ourselves? Is it for the comfort of other people to be able to better understand us, or for us to be able to better understand ourselves? The answer to this question is a lifelong journey, and the diversity of those journeys is what makes our differences so enriching to the human experience.