Enough With Latino Anti-Blackness

Nury Martinez shows that Latinos’ racism can still reaffirm white supremacy.

Editor’s Note: This story is part of a collection of work by Xochitl Gonzalez that was the finalist for the 2023 Pulitzer Prize for Commentary.

On Monday, L.A. City Council President Nury Martinez took a “leave of absence” (in disgrace) from her position following a leaked audio recording of Martinez making racist and homophobic statements to a group of fellow political leaders. I’m not sure if hate language from a public official can be considered in grades of “better” or “worse,” but I’d venture to say that what made Martinez’s remarks particularly horrible were that they focused on a child—specifically, the Black son of fellow L.A. City Council member Mike Bonin, who is white and gay.

In addition to calling the child a repugnant, racist epithet, Martinez takes the opportunity to deem Bonin the “fourth Black member” of the city council. She then goes on to criticize the L.A. district attorney, George Gascón, by describing him as being “with the Blacks”—the implication being, of course, that if he is “with the Blacks,” he cannot be aligned with Martinez’s interests. And, of course, the further implication being that he can’t be aligned with her Latino constituents’ interests.

I would love to say that I’m surprised by this incident, but I’m only surprised by how retrograde the nature of the racism was. Anti-Blackness, and specifically anti-Black racism, has followed most U.S. Latinos from their home countries, where the violent “mixed” origins of our very existence—the result of a white Spanish colonizer enslaving and raping indigenous and African peoples—have long elevated white skin such as mine in the social pecking order. But, more often lately, when issues of Latino anti-Blackness arise, they are discussed as an intra-community issue pertaining to the bias against, and erasure of, Afro-Latino identity amongst our own people. Martinez’s clear-cut, “us against them” hatred feels so simplistic and lacking in nuance, it feels of a bygone era, like stuff out of a ’90s movie about race relations.

And yet, at its core, it is that clear-cut. It is as simple as it gets: This Latina in a position of power actively holds disdain for Black people and feels confident enough that the three other Latinos (also in positions of power) that she’s speaking with share that disdain, that she freely speaks her mind. What makes this revelation more painful—and dangerous—is that within her racism is yet another wrongful reassertion of Latinidad: that Latino-ness lives “over here” and Blackness lives “over there.”

In Martinez’s remarks there is, yes, harmful racism against the Black residents of Los Angeles. But her words also entail yet another viscerally hurtful rejection of the Afro-Latino and mixed-race Latino identities of a community she supposedly represents. Her racism causes harm not only in her city, but in the Latino community at large.

That harm is psychological, and it’s political. Anytime we reaffirm a hierarchy of race and colorism that was thrust upon us by a colonizer, we inflict upon ourselves emotional harm. And anytime we reject the racial, ethnic, and religious diversity that actually comprises the U.S. Latino population, we reduce ourselves to flattened white-media stereotypes.

But the harm is also practical. In her new book, Racial Innocence: Unmasking Latino Anti-Black Bias and the Struggle for Equality, Tanya K. Hernández outlines how anti-Black racial biases amongst non-Black Latinos adversely affect Afro-Latinos in the criminal-justice system, in housing access, and in educational spaces.

Martinez’s words are also, simply, just painful. They should be painful to all Latinos, whether you are Afro-Latino or not. Because Anti-Blackness in our community is a form of self-hatred. Racism is a form of self-hatred. Colorism is a form of self-hatred. And it isn’t getting us anywhere.

An anecdote: I went to junior high school in a racist, predominantly Italian American neighborhood that I believe—given that a mob of white teens lynched a Black kid there while I was a student—I can safely describe as such. In school, there were the “cool kids,” who were Italian, and then there was “everybody else”—including the “Spanish kids.” Because many of the Italians weren’t “allowed” to socialize with us, we formed a clique of our own, and I eventually found love with a Dominican boy whom I would make out with on a corner after school. In 2022, we would describe my novio as Afro-Latino; in 1990, he was just Dominican.

One day, we came out of school to find the streetlamps plastered with makeshift “wanted” posters with a photograph that showed me and him kissing. The crime he was “wanted” for was his being Black and my being “something else.” Kids at school couldn’t invite me over because I was “Spanish,” but, according to the person who made the poster, I was white enough to be in “danger.” In reality the only person in danger was my Black novio. We stopped making out near school. Racism both brought us together and then pulled us apart.

Here’s a news flash to non-Black Latinos—from a person who, you can scroll up and confirm, looks pretty caucasian: Your “whiteness” will always be relative. You can utter as much garbage as you want about Black people; you can vote Republican; you can lead the Proud Boys. You will never “achieve” whiteness. The “gift” bestowed upon Italians and the Irish isn’t happening for us. So, you can discriminate against Black people and Afro-Latinos all you want. It won’t make you white. It just makes you a racist person of color. A Brown Clayton Bigsby. A fool.

I benefit from white-skin privilege on a daily basis. From the moment I stepped into a classroom, I’ve been the likely recipient of teacher favoritism over any of my equally intelligent and darker-skinned Latino and Black classmates. I probably received preferential treatment even before that, among relatives. It is important for me, and people who look like me, to own that. But it is equally important to disavow and loudly reject non-Black-Latino racism. To examine and interrogate our community leaders and elected officials and media outlets about their anti-Black biases. Because while I believe we Latinos will never be white, our racism can still reaffirm white supremacy.