Dance for Me

Zoe: Have you ever looked in spaces, searching for faces that resemble your own, only to find none? It scares me that even while racial demographics have changed—making Latinos the largest minority in the United States—the spheres that should reflect that diversity within this country have remained the same: overwhelmingly white. Lack of representation, or representation without power, means never having the issues that matter most to our community resolved and never being recognized as more than just entertainment.

Ruben: And when the White People represent us, it’s for their own sake. They want our “exotic” identity to be one that is easily consumed. Don’t you see it in the sexualization of our brown, beautifully imperfect bodies? They want us to have the Latin lover’s smile or the JLo ass, and if we don’t, we don’t exist. Latinos lacking chiseled jaw lines or boner-inducing curves don’t grace our television screens. I stand shirtless in front of the mirror, and what is reflected there is not what I see on TV or on my movie screen. Instead of sculpted abs, I have a fairly normal stomach, but because there are nothing but sexualized, desirable individuals with my skin tone in our media, I begin to hate what I see. Unless they can call us Papi or Mami in bed to fulfill some wet dream, we’re not worth seeing.

Z: They do not deem us worthy of being in positions of true power. We can be seen for our beauty, our sexuality, but to open our mouths and demand for change is impossible. Every generation of Latinos has taken to the streets to fight for the issues that have always affected our community: immigration reform, better resources, struggling for a basic quality of life that should be guaranteed to everybody. But their cries echo in a chamber of whiteness founded on the broken promises that come from the lips of white politicians who can speak Spanish, but do no real work towards bettering our community. These politicians who thrive in their privileged institutions of power, meant to serve the people, but only if the people look like them. Where is the Latina senator that can demand for change for our communities?

R: It’s all about power. We can’t have it. They pretend that they’re okay with us having a voice, but all they’re doing is using us without having to grapple with the reality that we are more than the goods they seek to reap from our browness. They’ll try “ethnic” cuisine made by the colored folk to try feeling more cultured. They scream, “Oh my god, I love tacos—but I don’t love it when the men and women who make them move into my neighborhood.” A white, frat boy who went to an elite prep school suggests they have a South of the Border party. He thinks to himself, “We all love tequila, and there are no Mexican guys in our frat to be insulted, so it’s perfect.” They bastardize our cultures, drink their hearts out and claim it is appreciation, while brown children face deportation to war-strewn countries where they will die. White People love Hispanics, but only when it’s convenient and when they can use our culture as a commodity for their own purpose, whatever that may be.

Z: Some would say that we should be happy that we get a nod of acknowledgement at all, that our culture has been deemed substantial enough for the majority to take note and “celebrate” it. But that celebration looks more like cultural appropriation to me, and when coupled with a complete lack of Latino voice on any major national stage, it spells continued oppression and marginalization of our community.

Maybe people wouldn’t so ignorantly wear my culture like a costume if they actually recognized us as a community worth listening to. Maybe if they saw Latinas in the Senate, in the corporate world as professionals, in the courtroom as lawyers and not criminals, then we would be more to them than just vessels of sex, food, and cute costumes. I am not your entertainment. I am not your costume. My community is one of beautiful diversity and tradition that isn’t meant to be adorned when you feel like being “exotic” for the night.

R: All I hear is, “Dance for me. Entertain me. Speak Spanish because it’s exotic and sexy, but don’t speak Spanish in the classroom because this is America and we speak English in this country. Let us decide how brown you’re allowed to be. You are too brown for Congress, academia, and the boardroom. You are too brown to be powerful, so entertain me. Dance for me, sing for me, because that is how I can consume you. That is how you are acceptable.” They are scared of our voices, yet they claim they want our melanin and culture to be in their lives.

But only if it is unthreatening. Only if it is theirs to own.

Ruben E. Reyes, Jr. '19 and Zoe D. Ortiz '19 are Crimson editorial writers. Ruben lives in Leverett House and Zoe lives in Mather House. Their co-written column appears on alternate Tuesdays.