Being Authentically Dominican

When people ask me what I am, I immediately, without hesitation, respond saying "Dominican." but that would be a lie. I like to think that I am Dominican because I was conceived by Dominican parents and I was born there. A few summers ago, however, I found out that those facts were not enough to make me "fully" Dominican. "You left when you were a baby, that doesn't count. You might as well have been born there!" my friends and cousins teased as I sat with them on a porch on a warm summer night. There comments enraged me because I always thought of myself to be just as Dominican as they were. The rest of the summer was filled with more mockery and insults about what a gringa I was.

This upset me, in part, because they were right. Sure I do not need a tourist card to enter the Dominican Republic. Sure I grew up listening to Aventura, Antony Santos, and Juan Luis Guerra. Sure I consider plantains their own food group, live for baseball season, rock tubis out in public more times than I would admit to, think Vick's VapoRub is the cure to any illness known to man, and I’m probably still subconsciously scared of El Cuco. Is any of that enough to make me "fully" Dominican? Or am I some fraction thereof? Regardless of all the culturally relevant things I do, I have always battled with the idea that I wasn't Dominican enough. Deep down, even though I would never admit it or say it aloud, I know that I am Dominican-American.

My mother and I immigrated to the United States when I was only two months old. Although I grew up with a deep love, pride and respect for my Dominican roots and culture, I am also Americanized. I celebrate Thanksgiving. I drive a car, not a motorcycle. I have electricity twenty-four hours a day. I know how to take buses and trains, I am fluent in English, and I really, really like McDonald's. But is it really fair for them to think of me as a lesser Dominican because I was raised in the US? After all, I am a victim of circumstance. It was my parents' choice to move to the United States. It was my parents' choice to become naturalized citizens.

This is where it gets really confusing. Not only do the Dominicans in the Dominican Republic think of me as a lesser Dominican, but the Americans in the United States think of me as a lesser American. I am looked down upon because my parents never went to college and have regular, low-paying, blue-collar jobs. To white America, I am just another Hispanic girl chasing the American dream, working part-time and attending college in order for my family to progress. In order to make my parents proud and not regret their decision to leave everything they had ever known to give my siblings and me a better life.

The faces that I received in response to me telling people that I went to McNair Academic High School are still etched into my brain. They would open their mouth and eyes really wide and say "You got into McNair?" as if it was impossible for a person of my status to be intelligent. My senior year of high school, one of my teachers confessed to me that he would have never imagined that I was such a good writer based on my appearance. Years later, I am still processing what that means. Do I not look as smart as my peers because I am Latina? I did not know that a certain type of person looked more intelligent than another. Sometimes I feel as though I have to work harder to prove myself because my ethnicity is used against me; that it’s a hindrance rather than an advantage.

In the end, you are what you identify with. Nobody can tell you to pick a side or a culture. Nobody can tell you who you are. I choose to be proud of my Dominican heritage, my traditions, my cuisine, my music and my culture. I choose to keep my roots alive. I may never be as Dominican as those who live in the Dominican Republic, but Dominican identity should not be put on a scale. I will not let others make me feel as a lesser Dominican because I do not live there. I am blessed that my parents brought me to the US for greater opportunities, and I am eternally grateful for that. I am not against assimilation into American culture, because everybody wants to fit in. I admit that I have adopted American traditions and even an American way of thinking. So what am I? I am an American by circumstance and I am a Dominican by choice. I am both. 

Nelcida L. Garcia, G.O. Team: Dominican Republic

Some Thoughts on Growing Up Black & Caribbean in the US

The initial title for this post was “To Be Doubly Dispersed.” I finally decided against it thinking that it might be too esoteric of an allusion to the African diasporas – dispersions – of which I am a part. My grandmother, Shirley, and my mother, Patricia immigrated to the US in 1968 and 1970, respectively from Trinidad & Tobago. My older brother, Alex, and I are the first US-born generation in our family. Much of my worldview, including how I think about and experience my blackness, continues to be shaped by the distinct ways that African culture was distilled in these communities.

After living and working abroad, I have come to realize how beneficial of an experience it has been to occupy these three distinct but often converging roles: that of being a US citizen in the world, of being a black man in the US, and of coming from foreign roots in a black American population that largely traces its roots to the southern states. I am aware of the power that I wield when I travel around developing countries with a US passport. Coming from a traditionally oppressed group in the US I find that viscerally I am sympathetic to populations on the unfortunate end of some of our foreign policy decisions. That is, I understand myself in relation to those people in a way that I imagine is different from many of my compatriots. The majority of my family, on their small, oil-rich island nation, is, after all, subject to US foreign policy.

Despite the rewards of this diversity, I have lived with a persistent – but not ever-present – sense of dislocation. This may be a shared experience among first generation Americans, but I have never been able to fully escape the feeling of being neither American enough, nor Caribbean enough to not feel as though one or the other part of me was not setting me apart from whichever group I was trying to blend in to. After all, my grandmother still calls me “Yankee boy,” and my friends always seem to catch the slight change in my accent when I talk to someone from the English-speaking Caribbean.

There is a limit to what we can absorb during our most formative years. When one is drawing upon several traditions – each one diverse in its own right – one is bound to miss many bits of cultural knowledge and experience. In my case, these lost opportunities can manifest themselves in minor, at times comical, confessions. To my black American friends, I might note that I still cannot play spades, and that it took me 19 years of life on this planet before I ate a single fiber of collard greens. (Have a black friend explain.) On the other hand, I am terrible at all the Trinidadian card games that my grandmother taught me growing up – and my cousins enjoy reminding me of that. Individually, this sort of thing is not devastating, but taken together with similar occurrences, I quickly began to realize growing up that my blackness was taking on a slightly different flavor than the groups by which I had been influenced.

Dwayne David Paul, Asst. Director of Campus Ministry, G.O. coordinator

My Experience of Ethnic Difference

As humans beings we are all the same and even our DNA is similar, but some of the human beings do not want to be considered part of the same or one large group of people.  In actuality, most of the humans do share some form of similarities, but end up leading to social issues based on race, color, class, gender, sexuality and colonial history that clashes with various groups of people for being different. However, I was not exposed to the social issues brought on by just being different until I moved to United States from Pakistan at the age of seven.  At first I felt out of place and tried to fit in by not losing my true identity and traditions.  The main reason for us moving to the U.S. was for my parents to raise their children in a better environment, receive good educations and to have a brighter future; however, I was shocked to see social issues caused by people judging each other for being different. 

Every human being is a human being—who is unique and different form everyone around them (also including myself).  I was not born in the U.S. but was born in Pakistan and moved to the U.S. when I was about seven years old. Most of the people in are not originally from here, but have been living here since their ancestors came across the ocean on crowded boats or the recent ones who came on an airplane. As a newcomer in a strange landscape, I felt like I did not belong here and people would judge me for being different. I did not let my difference bother me when I came to live in an area that does not welcome newcomers.

I had lived in Pennsylvania for two years, in a small town, an hour drive away from Philadelphia.  The community and school district were not diverse at all. The majority of the people were Caucasian; it was an eyeopening experience. Conversely, Jersey City is a multicultural community, and cannot go anywhere without seeing or meeting people of different backgrounds.  Whenever you go for a walk or run an errand you might end up meeting people from Ghana, Cuba, Puerto Rico, Egypt, Dominican Republic, Ireland, Greece and Haiti, among others. 

Most the people might think racial or social issues to be old news, but the problem still exists today, and thrives in parts of the world.  One of the places around the world where racial and ethnic differences still exist is the Dominican Republic. GO Team: Dominican Republic will visit small towns or villages where people from Haiti have settled and mixed themselves with the Dominicans, thereby adopting two identities. I hope to get to know their views in order to understand the causes of the racial and ethnic issues with which they are dealing.

Shahroze Ahmad, G.O. Team: Dominican Republic

Rachel Wifall

I am a caucasian woman. While I would say that my current circle of friends and associates is quite diverse, I grew up in a predominantly white, middle to upper-middle class community. My European ancestors were farmers and blue collar workers who came to the United States well over a hundred years ago. Their ethnic traditions were not actively maintained over the years, outside of religion; if I were to choose a community with which my family closely identifies, I would say "we are Lutherans." I call myself "American," but I have always been highly interested in different cultures and therefore have traveled widely, have studied three foreign languages in school (French, German and Russian), and know quite a bit of Spanish through my frequent interactions with Spanish speakers--including my niece, whose mother hails from Ecuador.

While I am obviously part of the dominant racial and ethnic population of the U.S., I have always identified strongly with my subordinate status as a woman. I was a precocious child in the 1970's who was well aware of the Women's Rights Movement, and I tried to show at every stage of my life that I could keep up with the boys and men--especially in academics.

Professor Rachel Wifall, G.O. Team: Dominican Republic

Who I Am

Like many today, I am a child born of immigrants who migrated to North America. Both of my parents were born in Peru and came to live in a better environment. Some years ago, my mother, at 25, came to the U.S. after graduating with a bachelor’s and master’s degree in teaching. They came to the “land of opportunity” in the hopes that they would find better job opportunities; initially, did not succeed in her goal.

My mother wanted to become a teacher in North America, yet when she came to the U.S., not all her credits were transferred and so she had to finish her credits in the here in order to fulfill her goal. Unfortunately, because my mother did not know anyone except for her married brother, she could not study until she earned money for her own education. As she did not know English, she started her work as a janitor and a cleaning lady. My mother had to start from zero. My father also had to start with carrying boxes and working hard for his own benefit. He was a Peruvian marine who also wanted to stop traveling and try to make a family in the U.S. He, like my mother, did not have his parents to take care of him. He only had a few cousins who were almost in the same position as he was. They, my mother and father, both began from scratch and steadily worked to become the parents they are today.

As a result of my parents’ hard work, my little brothers and I were born in the U.S. We had the blessing of having such parents that work hard to give us an education and become something more than what they were. We were taught in Catholic schools since we were four and have been able to recognize how important it is to be united as a family and be thankful to God. 

Who am I? Well, I am the eldest of three children, who wants to repay my parent’s hard work and dedication. The only way I know how to repay them is by trying my best in school and at home. I was, am, and will be forever grateful for my parents and my family. Consequently, I have achieved academic excellence for all my four years in high school and had the honor of receiving the title of “Valedictorian of 2012” I was also blessed with having a scholarship to attend Saint Peter’s University and was a recipient of the Gold Medal for the School of Business this year. My major is accounting and I, like my mother, strive to do my best in what I can and want to become a professional accountant. I want to stand for what my parents fought for, and I am glad I can represent my country of origin, Peru.

Genesis Balarezo, G.O. Team: Dominican Republic