In Puerto Rico, slavery was legally abolished on March 22, 1873. This came from the resistance enslaved people and their allies enacted throughout the various centuries — specifically towards the end of the 19th century. However, formerly enslaved Black people were still pushed into accepting labor contracts with their previous enslavers and would be denied political rights until five years following the new law. Even now, 153 years following the abolition of slavery on the island, Black people are still systematically disadvantaged, facing institutional and interpersonal racism. So my question is, aside from the abolition of enslavement, has there truly been a substantial change? In this article, I aim to explore the challenges that Black people in Puerto Rico still face across different spaces, like healthcare, education, etc.
Educational System
People will argue that racism magically ceased to exist until they’re blue in the face. Many will look you straight in the eyes and bring forth the three-race narrative (which claims that all Puerto Ricans are an equal mix of Black, Indigenous, and Spaniard). It creates the illusion of a homogeneous “Puerto-Rican” culture, a racial democracy, where racism has no place because everyone is an “equal mix”. However, this narrative invalidates the experiences of Black people on the island and shifts the blame of racism towards other causes; it also negates the very real consequences that racism inflicts on the lives of those who experience it.
If you’re thinking: “maybe it’s not as rampant as one might think?” Let me introduce you to Alma Yadira’s story. In 2017 she made headlines after facing five assault charges at just 11 years old when, in reality, she was acting in self-defense against bullying and harassment from her racist peers. However, it’s when she took action to defend herself that the school — and subsequently the state — acted, not to help, but punish her. Alma was expelled from school and arrested. This type of case is not rare on the island. As Alma’s lawyer, Leo Aldrige affirms most of the children and adolescents who face juvenile court are black children from the public school system. Often times, they have little to no understanding of the processes they are facing. The Department of Education has long been complicit in hiding and making excuses for blatant racism. For example, “history” books that once again claim the “three race narrative” (seriously, it haunts me). While they exalt the Spaniards and show respect (the bare minimum) towards the displaced indigenous people of the island, the role of Black people is reduced to “slave” and “lovers of music and folktales.” The situation is so dire that researchers found that anti-Black racism in school was rampant, beginning as early as second/third grade. Various comments focus on hair, which is something I have experienced and discussed in a previous article.
It’s no surprise then, that there are specific policies prohibiting ethnic styles and afros longer than one inch in male students in many codes of conduct for schools both public and private. However, as is the case worldwide, female students may often feel pressured to hide their natural hair texture — either by temporarily straightening or using chemical straighteners like relaxers. The situation around hair has reached the point where Law 106-2024 had to be put in place to protect Black individuals from discrimination due to their natural hair texture or traditional styles like braids, locs, etc.
Healthcare
If we go back in time, we will see the mass sterilization project that took place during the 20th century. Puerto Rican women, specifically poor women of color, were the test subjects for the first birth control pill trial (without their informed consent). At the time, the dose was around 20 times stronger than the one available today, often causing severe headaches, abdominal pain, and other lifelong health issues. As if this wasn’t enough, by the 1980s, one-third of Puerto Rican women had been sterilized. As is shown in the documentary La Operación, these women were mostly poor — some living in public housing — and many were also racialized as Black or non-white. They were often coerced into hysterectomies; the full scope of the procedure was not explained, violating informed consent procedures; and clinics were installed in factories, slowly pushing them into signing away their bodily autonomy in favor of population control. What followed were major health complications and lifelong consequences for them and their families, having been robbed of the right to make an informed decision.
Cultural Sphere
Hell, even bomba (a traditional Afro-Puerto Rican genre) was briefly prohibited in the early 20th century. A genre so important in shaping the racial identity of many Black Puerto Ricans — which also served as a tool for ancestral connection and resistance — was, in a way, criminalized for daring to exist and give hope. However, as we see today, this did not work; and, due to the work of families like the Cepedas ’and the Ayalas’, bomba lives and resists. Similarly, reggaeton and its artists were criminalized during the 1990s and early 2000s under the guise of being dangerous criminals who could poison the good (white and mestizo) youth. Campaigns like the infamous “Mano dura” (No Mercy) disproportionately affected poor black communities as well, inflating crime statistics and constructing more prisons, which led to an unending cycle of violence and discrimination.
So truly I ask, what has changed? Black people still face rampant discrimination — beginning in school. They are disproportionately represented within the “justice” system, and, moreover, our lived experiences are negated under the discourse of it “being in the past” and “racial mixing has done away with racism.” Our modes of self-expression have been prohibited and criminalized, and yet we’re still here. We create and we resist. Genres like plena were born in response to illiteracy and poverty in black communities, with those who could read transforming the news into songs so people could be informed. We are still here, fighting to be heard and seen, while those in power pretend not to see or hear. I could not be prouder to be Afro-Puerto Rican, knowing I can hold ancestral traditions close while looking and hoping for a better future. Even when they try, they cannot keep us down; change is inevitable.