The Negrita Chronicles Series: Me Llaman (They Call Me) La Otra (Other)

As women of color, we deal with silence and invisibility on a daily basis. We experience it from whites, non whites, and especially folks we call "our people." I experience silence and invisibility at retail stores, school, church, work, social circles and even in my own family. "You are not Dominican enough. Wow!? I didn't know you were Dominican!? I thought you were African American." Even in our own communities we try to divide ourselves. We buy into these neocolonial constructions of identity. We begin to see ourselves in the eyes of the oppressor rather than seeing ourselves through the historical lens of what we had to experience as slaves and indentured servants. Or even looking at ourselves through an ethic of loving action and intention. Due to this white supremacist capitalist (i.e. neoliberal and neocolonial)patriarchal society that we live in, the ways in which we communicate and relate to human beings precludes our ability to organize a collective struggle around injustice due to the traumas that continue to haunt our lives. This does not mean that we are helpless victims and that there is nothing we can do to stop these forms of oppression. To live in a world where health care, education, housing, food, shelter are universal rights not commodities that only the rich can afford. A world where communities of color are not seen as disposable. WE do have power to change our situation. Yet, many of us walk around, zombie-like, unaware of the realities or choosing to deny the truth of our oppression.

Growing up in the South Bronx, in a predominantly African American (not West Indian mainly African American and a few African Immigrants) and Puerto Rican neighborhood I had to consistently deal with being an outsider in a neighborhood where folks did not understand or know Dominicans. Of course I felt alienation, isolation, and totally misunderstood by peers and neighbors. As a child, I found comfort in my journals and books. I gave up on trying to fit in with peers and embraced my uniqueness. I spent more time with my family and as I got older these same peers accepted me and my "difference." And then in high school, they began to resent me (which is another story.) I learned early on to embrace my uniqueness and see it as a precious characteristic that made me special. I reflect on this experience and I am grateful that early on I honed the skills to navigate this form of invisibility when I went to college and graduate school.

The poems below capture countless experiences where other people of color used the master's tools to deny my physical presence. There were times where I spoke up and others where my silence became a source of strength for me.

Que Disfruten! Enjoy!

Present Absence
I'm right here.
why don't they see me.
i am waving my hand as high as i can.
standing on my toes. trying to find. seeking to find. visibility.
but why can't they see me?
i mean, how can they NOT see me?
afro-mile high-caramel skinned tone.
thick bilingual via south bronx accent.
don't-mess-with-me attitude.
i know they know.
they must know.
don't they know.
that i am really one of them.


untitled/unfinished
does she speak Spanish?
is she African American?
where are you from?
i'm so sick of the pronouns.
i am right here.
in front of you.
looking right at you.
why don't you see me?

With Courage,

Rebel