Reality of my Blackness

Hey! I’m black in case you haven’t realized. Always have been, always will be… When I first came to the Dominican Republic, I blended in perfectly with my red lipstick, freshly flat-ironed hair, caramel skin, and curved hips. Some Dominicans would even attempt to argue with me when I told them I am not a Dominicana. Now here I am: a couple shades darker, with kinks a bit too hard to comb for the common person, and an afro too large for cultural acceptance. If it wasn’t for Obama, whose presence makes it slightly easier to explain how I am a black American, I don’t know what I’d do. Before starting my service in the DR, I thought being black would be the least of my concerns. While it is not something very daunting and I don’t have these problems daily, it is something that exists and I thought it was worth sharing.

Being African American in the DR has its perks: I can get on public transportation and not have the fear of getting robbed because people think I’m from here; I can buy something on the street and not be over charged because my skin color saves me; yes, I can even be stopped and ID-ed by military forces due to confusion because my complexion may be considered too dark for a Dominican and too light for a Haitian. None of these examples account for the fact that my nationality is neither Dominican nor Haitian, but American seems to be the last thing that comes to mind. I find myself having conversations about the fact that I am American by default because my ancestors were stolen from Africa… This leads to different discussions where I try to force people to understand their identity and how they were socially conditioned to hate their blackness.

I find it frustrating here when I have conversations with Dominicans and they deny being black. Many of them try so hard to distinguish themselves from Haitians that they inadvertently condemn their own identity and roots. I try to make people understand that they are descendants of the African Diaspora, but African descent in this country is correlated with Haitian ancestry. Instead of standing in solidarity, I guess it’s easier for Dominicans to erase their history in hopes of gaining superiority over Haitians; thus, they unconsciously repeat the cycle with which they’ve convinced themselves to have no connection. So while I find myself defending my blackness amongst a group of people whose ancestry is inextricably linked to mine, I also defend the blackness of the Dominican Republic.

My black has always been full of boldness, pride, strength, love, and roots. I was black even when people told me not to be. If you’re the adventurous type like me who does it all from cocktail events with former presidents to rock climbing with my “sistah-girls,” then I know you’ve been told at least once- “Try not to act black when you go in here…” How is it that someone can ask me to hide behind my own skin whose color dominates the classification of my identity? I’m that girl that thought about going to a predominantly white institution for one second, simply because I wanted to be the President of a Black Student Union. Thus, instead of “trying not to be black,” I make sure that you remember my blackness! So, when you see a photo of a thousand faces, you’ll know that one black dot is me; when you hear of “that” black girl that competed in an interview against “those” white men, you’ll know it was me; when you’re child tells you about that amazing black woman they want to be like, yup- you’ll know it’s me! Many people have a negative connotation of what it means to be black. Hence, rather than conforming to society’s boxed idea and succumbing to societal barriers, I made the conscious decision to redefine blackness and black character, attitude, and capabilities.

I tell you all these things because no matter what we do, where we live, who we know, or how much money we make, being black is one of the only things we can’t change even if we wanted to. People fought and died for us to take pride in who we are, so never be sorry for being black. I won’t apologize if you hate me when I tell you that Jesus was black or if you don’t believe me when I tell you that Africans were the first to accomplish almost every “first”. I won’t apologize if my hair is too thick to fit under your baseball cap, if my hips can’t fit into your pencil skirt, if my existence intimidates you or my strength frightens you. My blackness is not worthy of an apology, it deserves a defense. In all that I do, I want my black presence to bring a heightened visibility to the fact that black is beautiful and not disdainful, powerful and not meager, accomplished and not a scar of failure… This was just one of my many experiences here in the DR during my Peace Corps journey. I know it was kind of a debbie downer, but it's also my reality. Until next time, stay black!