The Whitewashed Cuban
Being Cuban was always a “tacked on” fact for me until I entered high school. Having this heritage was something I experienced at home; once I walked out my front door, it meant little to nothing. The culture is always around me; my mom cooks Cuban food every day, my Abuelita does not speak English, I grew up listening to Celia Cruz and spend almost every summer in Miami — but I never considered it a huge part of my identity. Spanish was not my first language, I have the last name Montgomery and I’ve always attended Caucasian-majority private schools. It was so much easier to just be white.
It was only until I got older that I began to understood the importance of my heritage. When I was a little girl, I couldn’t comprehend my mom’s bravery; she came to a foreign country at a young age to escape a dictator. I did not understanding what being from Cuba meant to her; to her, it meant leaving her family and thinking she would never be able to return to a place she once called home. Essentially, I did not understand how unique it is to be a Cuban American. Only until I was old enough to understand how important it is to embrace my Cuban side did I become passionate about such a major part of my identity.
Now I am committed to learning Spanish, asking my Cuban relatives more about our history and truly finding a meaning for myself within the culture. I can’t believe I left half of myself at home for the longest time. Being Cuban American is a blessing, and I make sure people know it. I show my friends how to make cafe con leche, I speak out about the Castros and America’s shifting relationship with Cuba, I have a “la cubana” playlist on spotify, I try to spend as much time as possible with fellow cubanos.
Some people still don’t understand, but that is just another reminder as to why being Latina is special. Some classmates asked me if I was going to play the “Hispanic card” on my college applications. They imagined that checking the “Hispanic or Latino” box would entitle me to certain privileges despite my European presentation — but they can’t see my Abuelo’s nose on my face, the significance of my curly hair or the fact that this isn’t a “Southern California” tan. I know that looking white has granted me privilege in this society; however, I’ve been told by people who aren’t Hispanic that I cannot possibly be “Cuban enough” since I don’t look the part. These types of comments, which also manifested around the time I started to understand how important it is to embrace my Cuban identity, have been truly obnoxious. This isn’t a card, this isn’t a box on a standardized test, this isn’t a competitive edge — this is part of who I am. I will have earned something because I have genuinely earned it. It is days like this where I am reminded of why being just white as a child was the easier path.
But I am proud of my cultural roots. I am no longer half of a person. Now not only am I around my heritage everyday — I also notice it and feel it. It is apart of who I am wherever I go. It is my duty as an adult to use this privilege I have obtained through a whitewashed childhood to share and preserve the Cuban culture.
In my adult life, I plan on being a politician. As a conscious Latina, I want to see legislation that cares for my community. I want lawmakers to look at Hispanics as more than just a conversation piece for immigration. I want to see more Hispanic leadership at every level of government. I want to be an active member in a community that has always been a key aspect of who I am. As a leader, I want to be a role model to the next young girl who thinks ignoring her identity would be easier than being who they actually are.
