Orange Is the New Black Dives into Latinx Identity Politics
The series treats relations between Dominicans, Mexicans, and Puerto Ricans with a level of nuance uncommon in mainstream media
The fourth season of Orange Is the New Black (2013 — ) has a lot to say about inter-ethnic hostility within the Latinx community. The episode “Power Suit” (4.2) dives most deeply into these conflicts, treating relations between New York Dominicans, Mexicans, and Puerto Ricans with a level of nuance and depth uncommon in mainstream media.
In “Power Suit,” we learn via flashbacks that inmate Maria Ruiz (Jessica Pimentel) does not have an easy relationship with the Dominican nationalism her father tried to inculcate in her. We see her reject the ethnocentrism of her father, which is primarily directed at the new waves of Mexican immigrants whom he sees as attempting to take over “Dominican” territory in New York.
Although we’re never told exactly where Ruiz grew up, it’s a safe bet it was in Washington Heights, which began to be defined as a Dominican barrio with increasing migration from the island in the 1960s and ‘70s. Further, if we assume the character is in her mid-20s to early 30s, this means she grew up primarily in the 1990s, which is when Mexican immigrants began to arrive in New York City in large numbers.
As a teen, Ruiz ends up hooking up with a guy of Mexican descent, largely as a direct act of defiance against her father. For this “betrayal,” she is eventually kicked out of the house.
At the same time, Ruiz also pushes back against her father’s factionalism in a more philosophical manner, questioning why these inter-ethnic boundaries are so important to him. She challenges his assertions of Dominican pride, suggesting the real reason for his antagonism towards Mexicans has to do with his drug-dealing operation: they’re the new drug dealers on the block, cutting in on Dominican territory.
Also fascinating in “Power Suit” is the shift in Ruiz’s thinking about her ethnic identity, which happens as the present-day prison scenes progress.
While in flashbacks we see Ruiz’s rejecting Dominican nationalism and exclusive notions of identity, the opposite is taking place in the prison scenes. (In fact, you could say one of the main themes of the season is Ruiz’s shifting identity and status inside the Litchfield prison, as she eventually rises to the top of the Latinx food chain, assuming the position of jefa, boss.)
For example, at the beginning of this episode, Ruiz rejects the attempts by Blanca Flores (Laura Gómez), a fellow Dominican inmate, to unite over their shared ethnic identity. One of the most interesting scenes takes place in the TV room where inmates are watching a World Cup qualifying match between the Dominican Republic and Haiti.
One of the new Dominican inmates refers to the Haitian players as cocolos, a historically derogatory term similar in use to the “N” word, used to refer to non-Spanish-speaking blacks in the Dominican Republic. Ruiz retorts that this inmate probably has cousins darker than the cocolos, to which the latter responds, “They ain’t black black; they indigenous.”
Ah yes, the famed Dominican denial of blackness: the island is known for its use of the term indio (indigenous) to refer to people who in another context would be labeled black. Clearly, the show’s writers know their Caribbean history, as they weave in nuggets of the historic and racialized antagonism between the two countries residing on the island colonized as Hispaniola 500+ years ago.
Ruiz asks Flores why she is so invested in the outcome of this match, given how terrible the Dominican soccer team is. After all, like its Spanish Caribbean neighbors Cuba and Puerto Rico, it’s baseball that constitutes the national sport of the Dominican Republic, not soccer. Flores responds that it’s all about the homeland, the same words used by Ruiz’s father in her childhood.
Later in this episode, Ruiz and Flores are part of a conversation involving Daya (Dascha Polanco) and Aleida (Elizabeth Rodriguez). Daya and Aleida are the mother and daughter inmates who, as Puerto Ricans—or “original” New York Latinx who were themselves besieged by huge waves of Dominican immigrants in the 1960s and ‘70s — blame new Dominican inmates for clogging the bathroom drains with their “kinky hair.” This not-so-veiled reference to the high proportion of Dominicans with some degree of African ancestry also assumes that blackness is incompatible with Puerto Rican racial identity (yet another narrative of racial erasure).
While Flores calls out the mother and daughter on their racism, Ruiz says nothing and even defends Daya. At this point, it seems Ruiz feels no visceral connection to her Dominican identity. Nonetheless, after Ruiz witnesses Flores getting a beat-down from two white inmates who lament the huge numbers of Latinx inside Litchfield, her Dominican pride kicks in. She decides to participate in a revenge beat-down of one of the white girls.
Thus, it seems, Maria Ruiz has come full circle. What we are left with at the end of the episode is a feeling not of inter-ethnic solidarity among Latinx, but rather a further splintering of identity politics.
Another example of the series’ complex treatment of relations between Latinx of different nationalities takes place early on in “Power Suit,” when all the inmates are called to gather in the chapel. The most unlikely character is chosen to make one of the most interesting racial commentaries of the episode.
Leanne (Emma Myles), one of the “redneck” inmates, schools her friend Angie (Julie Lake) on the major differences between Latinx (Mexicans vs. Dominicans). She also spouts sophisticated knowledge about the historic racial tensions between the Dominican Republic and Haiti, including the fact that Dominicans overwhelmingly deny their blackness as a result of longstanding anti-Haitian sentiment.
After Angie lists several stereotypes about Cubans (smoking cigars and swimming to Florida) and Colombians (coffee, coke, and “hips don’t lie”), Leanne says about Dominicans, “They talk a lot and play baseball, and are always like ‘I’m super not black’ even though Haiti is on the exact same island.”
I laughed aloud at the sheer absurdity of two characters who clearly stand in for “white trash” and who have regularly expressed racist sentiments, displaying such a sophisticated understanding of inter-ethnic differences and hostilities among Latinx/Caribbeans. Of course, upon hearing Dominicans (and other Latinx) boiled down to three features, Angie responds, “That’s right. Yeah, I hate them.” Genius writing.
Finally, “Power Suit” takes on issues still taboo in some parts of Latin America, namely the place of blackness in national identity. As is evident in comments from both Dominican and Puerto Rican inmates, signifiers of blackness — dark skin, kinky hair — are not something to be proud of in many parts of Latin America. Rather, they are denied or projected onto others.
Because Latin American countries have historically included a mixed-race category in their official population counts, many Latinx draw a hard and fast line between mestizo/mulato (mixed race) and negro (black). This presents a major contrast with racial categorization in the U.S., so shaped by the “one-drop” rule that lumps everyone with African ancestry together as “black.”
Afro-Latinx have only begun to be recognized in recent decades as a distinct population group in many countries, such as Mexico, Peru, and Colombia. Thus, to delve into the racial politics of Latinx identity and give this issue some airplay is not a small feat.
In terms of the bigger picture: like Orange Is the New Black’s prison population, Latinx are the largest population of color in this country (Flores tells Ruiz, “We’re the majority now”). It’s about time their issues, stories, and differences were better represented on TV and in the media.
