By Camille Roque, Boston Prep Class of 2020
Based on a presentation delivered as part of the “I am” Boston Prep Community Meeting series, in celebration of Latinx Heritage Month
I am Latinx. As a child of a biracial family, I was born with a predominantly white complexion, thanks to my father, while my mom has a chocolatey dark skin tone. We moved to the United States from the Dominican Republic when I was young. The only things that separated me from all the other white children I met in the U.S. were my long, puffy, curly hair that stretched all the way to my lower back and my slightly tan complexion. These small markers were the only visible indicators of my race, and they would become the way others determined how I would be treated.
I remember how people looked at me when was a child. I also remember the way they looked at my mother. The looks were very different – one filled with admiration, the other dismissive and even at times disdainful. I didn't understand why. People would often ask my mother if she was my nanny or babysitter. Because she didn't look anything like me, people assumed there was no way that she could be my mother. Years later, my mother shared that those assumptions made her sad. “They assumed I was only good enough to do domestic work,” and even worse, “they assumed I was too ugly to be your mother, because of my dark skin.”
As I grew older, I found that my mixed features meant that I didn’t quite fit in anywhere. As I tried to find my place, my mother gently guided me. She knew that if I was perceived as Latinx, the world would treat me as less. She didn't want that for me, so she encouraged me to embrace the parts of myself that looked white. Although she never intended to push white ideals on me, when the words, “Fix your curly hair,” came out, I felt more inclined to straighten my hair, hiding the curls that gave away my Hispanic heritage. When the words, “Learn English, and be good at it,” were spoken, I asked myself, “Why isn't my Spanish good enough?” But I practiced and practiced, making sure to get rid of my accent at all costs.
In middle school, I began to fully Americanize. I became embarrassed by my mom because she spoke in Spanish rather than English. I spoke exclusively English at home, fully knowing my mother couldn't understand me, but refusing to speak her language. The complexion of my skin lightened with time and my careful avoidance of the sun. The girl that had once loved to have her hair wild and curly now asked her mom to straighten and bleach it so she could look like the the gorgeous Hannah Montana, the epitome of white beauty, with her long blonde locks and her gorgeous blue eyes. I was a tropical flower losing its colors and unique shape, becoming a strand of wheat in a field.
I had come to believe that the “Spanish” in me was a thing I could get rid of. I wanted to pass off as white, and I did – at least, until a bully wanted to hurt me. People knew they could use my culture to cut me down. My Hispanic heritage was always used as a rope. The mere reference to it would immediately tie me up and make me believe the derogatory things that they were saying about me. I was ashamed. I was ashamed of my culture. I was ashamed of speaking Spanish. I was ashamed of my mother, always asking me to translate. I was ashamed of my hair, always reverting to curls no matter how hard I tried to straighten it. I was ashamed of my country. I was ashamed of my roots. I was ashamed of who I was.
Camille shares her story with the Boston Prep students and faculty at a recent Community Meeting
And then, in high school, for the first time, I found myself in a community where I fit in. When I came to Boston Prep, I found people – including other Latinx kids – who were knowledgeable about and proud of their cultures. I found a community that celebrated my country and my heritage, and I started to see that my culture was something to be proud of, rather than something I needed to be ashamed of.
This past summer, the summer following my junior year of high school, my identity was put to the test. I spent six weeks at New York University at a summer program. I traveled to the program armed with my hair straightener and my practiced English. However, I found myself lost in the world of “passing for white.” I desperately missed parts of my culture, like listening to merengue and eating pollo guisado and rice and beans. I missed the strong sense of community that comes from being surrounded by others who share your heritage. By the end of the six weeks, I came to a realization – My Latinx heritage is part of who I am. I can’t straighten the “Spanish” out of my hair. I won’t ever be fulfilled by hamburgers and hot dogs. Some words will always reveal my accent. And most importantly, I learned that I didn’t like who I had become. I had become just like those people who looked down on my mother. I, too, had been taught to believe that my culture was “ugly” and that she wasn’t good enough because of her skin tone.
Now, finally, as a senior in high school, I am able to say with pride: I am Latinx. The Dominican Republic is part of me and always will be, and for that, I am forever grateful. I am part of a strong community of people who are passionate, vibrant, and loving. I am still growing and learning and finding my way in my new identity, but today, I’m not working to become someone I am not. Instead, I am embracing and proudly proclaiming who I am: I am Latinx.