Who’s Latino? Amid growing numbers the definition is expanding

In immigrant families, growing up next to ‘americanos’

José Moya Hajje, 69, a Barnard College historian, had paternal great-grandparents who came from Spain, one of whom married a Black Cuban, and maternal grandparents who were of Lebanese descent. Cuba attracted many Lebanese traders during the 1910s, Moya said.

After Fidel Castro took power in Cuba, Moya left his family, like thousands of other young men before they reached 15, Cuba’s military age. After a brief stay in Spain, Moya Hajjer was reunited with his family in New Jersey in 1969.

“We had a sense of gratitude to a country that welcomed us,” he said of the U.S. But still, “I think of myself as Cuban, really. … That’s where I was born.”

For Colombian-American Christian León, 48, growing up in his Spanish-speaking home in Tampa, Florida, was a big reason he never identified as “American” and didn’t embrace his bicultural upbringing until adulthood – even though he was born in the United States

He recalled that his friends knew his place as the home of dance and music because his parents, doctors who emigrated from Colombia, were “rumberos” who threw big parties.

“It was very Latino and very Caleño,” León said, referring to the city of Cali, his parents’ hometown.

For Latinos who are proficient in Spanish, knowing the language has been a way to build community.

Vilma Habibah, 52, whose last name was Santos, was born and raised in Puerto Rico. When she began practicing Islam 25 years ago in New York, she was “one of the few Hispanic Muslim women on Long Island, and I felt super alone,” she said. Now she’s part of a growing community — and uses her native language to host “Construyendo Puentes de Paz,” (“Building Bridges of Peace”), a Spanish-language show on Radio Islamique America.

In 2017, about 276,000 Muslims in the U.S.—roughly 8% of the country’s Muslim population—were of Hispanic origin, up from 6% in 2011, according to the Pew Research Center.

While 88% of Hispanic adults say it is important for future generations to speak Spanish, later generations are less likely to speak it.

In Wilson, North Carolina, the 10 Herrera siblings grew up in a traditional Mexican family with mostly Spanish-speaking immigrant parents. Significantly more English is spoken in their homes now, said Alberto, seventh, compared to when Flor, the eldest, was born in 1990.

Alberto, 19, said his younger siblings, ages 15 and 13, grew up with technology and video games that “basically made them more connected to the American side.” Alberto said he embraced the value of his Spanish skills in a construction internship where he was the only person who could communicate with Spanish-speaking subcontractors.

Flor, 32, chose to own her identity after turning 18 and was looking to legally change her middle name, Josefina, which she had always hated – until she asked her parents about it.

When her parents made the trip from Mexico to the US border, her mother, then pregnant with Flori, became extremely dehydrated and thought she wouldn’t make it. She prayed to San José (Saint Joseph) that if she survived, she would name her child after him – hence Josefina. Flori kept her middle name.

Flor and her sister Elizabeth run Casa Azul, a non-profit organization in their hometown, focusing on helping first-generation college students and promoting Latino culture.

“Because of my American existence, I know I’m not white,” Flor said. “I know I’m not black. But I’m Latina.”

Does white erase Latin?

About 5 million Hispanic American adults, or 11%, said they do not identify as Hispanic or Latino, according to the Pew Research Center.

Growing up in Speegleville, Texas, a predominantly white community, Matthew Swindall ticked off “white” when asked about race or ethnicity in school, he recalls. He felt that no one would believe him if he said he was Hispanic, even though his mother, maiden name Mendoza, is Mexican American.

“Everybody sees my last name, that’s the whitest name you can have!” Swindall, 39, a light-skinned, red-haired police officer, said through laughter.

He fondly remembers attending family reunions in South Texas, where his great-grandmother understood English but did not speak it. His mother translated but never taught him Spanish because, as she told him, “I honestly didn’t think you’d ever need it,” Swindall said.

Now married to a Mexican-American woman and with two children, “I want my kids to know they’re both” white and Hispanic, he said.

Elizabeth Méndez Berry, a vice president and executive editor of an imprint at Random House, describes herself as the daughter of a brown Colombian woman and an “incandescent white” Irish Canadian man.

She has been working on a book about a formerly incarcerated man who has a common Latino surname. But in every record she found for him, he was categorized as white. “I don’t think we’re calculating well at this point,” she said.

Méndez Berry feels “very close” to her Latina identity, but she said it’s important for light-skinned Latinas like her to “acknowledge our whiteness and our privilege.”

Mirabella Isais, 22, who is Mexican and Russian, found herself distancing herself from her Latina roots as she navigated high school in West Covina, Calif., blending in with other lighter-skinned kids, so so he wouldn’t have to deal with the harassment he saw. face other Latino students.

“I was very scared,” Isais said. “I would almost try to hide it and pretend it wasn’t there.”

It wasn’t until college, after growing closer to her half-Salvadoran, half-Mexican best friend, that Isais felt more comfortable owning her Latin side. “It’s the first thing I say when people talk to me. I am half Russian, half Mexican. It’s so important to me.”

Making room for ‘Chicano’; knowing Spain

Abel Chavez, 43, the first Latino president of Our Lady of the Lake University, a Hispanic-serving institution in San Antonio, said he is Spanish, French and German on his father’s side and Tarahumara, an indigenous people from Mexico, by maternal grandfather. .

He identifies as Chicano and notes it on the registration forms. It’s an identity reflected in his passion for low-end cars, which his father showed him how to build—and that inspired Chavez’s eventual career as a mechanical engineer.

On the race question, he also ticks “white,” a nod to his family nickname, “El Güero,” a reference to his light skin. However, Chávez firmly stated: “I have no doubt that I am mestizo.” The complexity of his identity allows him to be more of an academic executive and less of a freak, he said. “You are one and you are the other,” he said.

On the other hand, Cindy Medina, 47, a genealogist from Texas, feels more comfortable embracing her European roots, which she attributes to her father’s ancestry.

She manages the New Spain and Mexico Facebook page, where she posts about Spanish, Mexican and indigenous history.

Medina is of Mexican descent, but is more likely to promote her Spanish heritage when talking about “Anglos,” she said.

“With white people, I push it. They think they are Europeans. Well, I’m European and have been for a long time,” she said, explaining the history of Spanish colonial settlers who inhabited a vast area of ​​what is now the Southwest and Western US. Medina’s efforts have sometimes put her at odds with relatives who identify as Chicano, she said.

“As Mexican Americans, as Spanish Americans, we have to understand each other. We are the ones with history,” said Medina. “I won’t let anyone else tell me otherwise.”