Afro-Latino/a Literature and Identity

Afro-Latino identity refers to the writers and traditions their ancestors have passed down to them and other Latinos, and these customs have become an integral part of a broader understanding of a national culture or Caribbean community, enjoyed by people of all races. This broader concept of Afro-Latino literature and identity represents a counter-discourse to a homogenizing understanding of culture, insofar as it expresses stories or narratives about those who have been historically marginalized. While history is tied to the past and slow to evolve, literature is another and perhaps more representative version of history, as proposed by the authors and the works they write. In fact, literature is a way of writing or rewriting history. Afro-Latino identity in particular sets the groundwork for questioning the hegemonic positionality to which Afro-Latinos and non-Afro-Latinos can subscribe. The presence of an Afro-Hispanic literature and identity in Spanish America

includes writers from diverse countries such as Cuba, Puerto Rico, Colombia, Mexico, Costa Rica, and Panama, among others, and argues for the existence of the same dynamic elements among Afro-Latinos in the United States. I refer to Afro-Latinos as people of Afro-Hispanic ancestry, whose parents were born and raised in a Spanishspeaking country of the Americas and later migrated to the United States, where their progenies were born or reared and educated. Afro-Hispanics are tied more to their culture of origin and tend to write in Spanish; Afro-Latinos have been nurtured in US culture and express themselves through the language and culture of their adopted country, although some also write in Spanish and speak to issues pertinent to their parents’ country of origin. And with the passage of time, as they immerse themselves in mainland politics and society, Afro-Hispanics can become Afro-Latinos. Afro-Caribbean people make up an overwhelming portion of Afro-Latino writing

and for this reason this study will focus on their literary production. The migration and exile of large numbers of Caribbean people, mainly from Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Dominican Republic, from the nineteenth century to the contemporary period, also created a sizable diasporic population of people of African descent. Cuba and Puerto Rico belonged to Spain’s last colonies, and they continued to be slave

territories with sizable populations of Africans and their descendants. Many of the early travelers were political exiles, who left their country of provenance for the host country to continue the fight against the Spanish colonial system. Others, some tobacco workers, migrated as cigar companies set up shops in cities such as Tampa, New York, and Key West. With the passage of time, these and other groups intermingled with all sectors of the dominant population, including African-Americans, and people of Afro-Hispanic descent negotiated an Afro-Latino identity. How Afro-Hispanics living in the United States negotiate an Afro-Latino identity

becomes meaningful when exploring the intercultural and racial conditions between the country of origin and the adopted homeland. Back home, citizens of African descent were encouraged to abandon their black identity in favor of a more inclusive notion of the nation and the national. Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities (1983) is applicable, for the national is defined by an intellectual elite community who equates its values with those belonging to the emerging nation, therefore obligating marginal communities to forsake their sense of distinctiveness. The caste system operative during the colonial period became a fundamental component of the national discourse and supported white superiority and black inferiority. Racial whitening was the only road to social, economic, and political mobility. There were black organizations in the early chapters of Cuba’s history, such as the cabildos or mutual aid societies that were transformed into Sociedades de Color, but all sought the same opportunities and lifestyles known to their white counterparts. Other associations, such as religious groups, preserved their traditions, but these were considered to be “backward” and marginal to the dominant discourse. The racial differences on the island were reinforced and even augmented on

the mainland. In nineteenth-century New York there were sharp contrasts among the Masonic lodges: the Caballeros de la Luz was organized by factory owners, and the Sol de Cuba was integrated by Cubans of African descent. There were other Afro-Hispanic groups, such as the Logia El Progreso (previously Logia Carlos Manuel de Céspedes) and Las Dos Antillas. Later, the Sol de Cuba was transformed into the Prentice Hall Lodge No. 38, with members from many of the cities’ black communities. Afro-Puerto Ricans Arturo Alfonso Schomburg, Francisco Gonzalo (Pachín) Marín, and Sotero Figueroa held leadership positions in some of these organizations. Cuba even had an Afro-Cuban political party, the Partido de los Independientes

de Color (1908), under the leadership of Evaristo Estenoz and Pedro Ivonet. The goal was to secure the rights promised to Afro-Cubans for their participation in the War of Independence (1868-78, 1895-8). However, after the founding of the Republic of Cuba in 1902, their requests for equality continued to be ignored. Members of the party were accused of inciting a rebellion in 1912 and the national army killed an estimated 6,000 party members, an act that discouraged any other black identity movement for generations to come. The US government, through the Platt Amendment of Cuba’s constitution, relied on a military presence to protect US interests and monitored political activities on the island, including those associated with the Partido de los Independientes de Color. The US control of the colony of Puerto Rico resulted in the displacement of

Puerto Ricans to the mainland. This was especially the case after World War II, with

Operation Bootstrap, a program that provided economic incentives for companies to set up factories and industrialize the island. Instead, they created a demographic nightmare, as many Puerto Ricans, including significant numbers of Afro-Puerto Ricans, were forced to abandon the island and seek employment in the adopted country. René Marqués’s Cuentos puertorriqueños de hoy (1959) gathers the voices of writers

of his generation who best represent the period that affected and displaced a disproportionate number of Afro-Puerto Ricans. José Luis González’s “En el fondo del caño hay un negrito,” Emilio Díaz Valcárcel’s “Sol negro,” and Edwin Figueroa’s “Aguinaldo negro” dared to uncover the racial conditions of an island culture that considered all Puerto Ricans to be equal. The issue of racism was brought to the fore by Isabelo Zenón Cruz’s controversial Narciso descubre su trasero (1974), a blatant denunciation of the racist nuances of Puerto Rican culture, and a few years later by José Luis González’s El país de los cuatro pisos (1980), outlining the contributions made by Afro-Puerto Ricans. The Dominican Republic has a unique history. It declared its independence not

from Spain but from Haiti in 1844, but was reincorporated as a Spain colony from 1861 to 1865. Race became an oppositional space to foster a sense of national identity dictator Rafael Leónidas Trujillo exploited during his rule, from 1930 to 1961. Many Dominicans are descendants of slaves brought to Hispaniola during the Spanish colonial period and Haitians during the 22-year occupation. Yet Dominicans embrace an Indian identity, not the black identity that they attribute to their Haitian neighbors. To solidify his power and preserve a sense of Dominicanness, Trujillo orchestrated the massacre of Haitians living along the River Masacre, also home to many dark-skinned Dominicans. Freddy Prestol Castillo’s El masacre se pasa a pie (1974) and Edwin Danticat’s The Farming of Bones (1998) refer to this tragic period in their countries’ histories, resulting in the deaths of some 20,000 Haitians. Therefore, Dominican identity is based on being Indian and not black or Haitian, although the two nations share a similar African ancestry. Contact between the Dominican Republic and the United States can be traced to

the US occupation of the country, between 1916 and 1924, and the exchanges Dominicans like the Henríquez Ureña family – Francisco and his children Max, Pedro, Francisco, and Camila – had with the United States. Julia Alvarez’s novel, In the Name of Salomé (2000), narrates parts of this important period of the Dominican Republic, beginning with the life of Salomé Ureña, the country’s national poet, and her marriage to Francisco Henríquez y Carvajal, who later became the president of the republic (1916). In Literatura dominicana en los Estados Unidos (2001), Daisy Cocco de Felippis and Franklin Gutiérrez refer to the Henríquez Ureña family but also to other early travelers such as Fabio Fiallo, Manuel Florentino Cestero, Jesusa Alfau Galván de Solalinde, and Gustavo E. Bergés Bordas, among others, thus showing the constant contact between the two nations. Trujillo controlled the country as his own plantation, but some Dominicans were able to leave their homeland during his reign. The migration increased after his execution, and even in greater numbers after the US occupation in 1965, many traveling to Caribbean cities such as New York. Hispanics and Afro-Hispanics in the United States tend to associate more closely

with their national or linguistic groups. As foreigners they experience linguistic

prejudices by monolingual English speakers who demand total conformity, since newcomers do not fit into their “imagined community.” And Afro-Hispanics and Latinos are exposed to racial categorization, the same ones African-Americans have had to endure. With the racial tension that erupted in the 1950s and 1960s, the height of the Civil Rights and Black Power Movements, dark-skinned immigrants had more difficulties navigating mainstream society than their lighterskinned counterparts. And as in the previous century, they were welcomed by and found refuge in the African-American community. With their numbers and racial complexions and complexities, they are redefining what it is to be black in the United States. The Afro-Latinos’ identity and literature reference the racial politics present in the

adopted country, but without obviating their presence in the place of origin. Arturo Alfonso Schomburg stands out as the first and most important Afro-Latino figure to bridge the gap between Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the United States. As a member of Las Dos Antillas Political Club, he opposed Spain’s control over Cuba and Puerto Rico. He went on to promote the accomplishments of people of African descent and collected their works. He authored Plácido a Cuban Martyr (1909), about the AfroCuban poets execution for allegedly masterminding the Ladder Conspiracy rebellion (1844), co-founded with John Edward Bruce The Negro Society for Historical Research (1911), and with Daniel Alexander Payne Murray co-edited the Encyclopedia of the Colored Race (1912). Though Schomburg and others promoted the racial equality expounded by José Martí, he also understood the racial divisions at home and abroad, and dedicated his life to celebrating the accomplishments of people of color. He is remembered as a distinguished bibliophile of African-American works and an influential figure during the Harlem Renaissance. Schomburg’s compatriot, Jesús Colón, was one of the first to write about Puerto

Ricans and race matters in the United States. Although he and Bernardo Vega were both tobacco workers and believed in the socialist cause, Colón was visibly an AfroPuerto Rican and was treated as an African-American. Indeed, Colón is conscious of his dark complexion in a country that judges a person by the color of his skin. In A Puerto Rican in New York and Other Sketches (1961), Colón conveys his experiences on the mainland. In “The Mother, the Young Daughter, Myself and All of Us,” Colón, while drinking coffee at a popular public location, overhears a conversation in which the mother encourages her daughter to occupy an available stool next to Colón, and the daughter’s response, indicating her refusal to sit next to a “nigger.” The daughter expresses a lesson she learned at home or in her community. Surprisingly, the mother does not correct the child’s behavior, which reflects upon her own conduct and education. The incident happens to Colón, but in the story’s title the reader is left to wonder who are the “Us.” We know the identity of “the Mother,” “the Young Daughter,” and “Myself,” but who are “and All of Us”? The first person plural pronoun refers to Colón and, perhaps, everyone else like him, indicating that we, those of us who can be called “niggers,” are susceptible to racial discrimination. The expletive the daughter enunciates is a word the mother and the rest of the customers in the coffee shop, and by extension the society, have articulated. Let us consider that there is only one seat available next to Colón, which remained unoccupied before and after the time of narration.