Siendo Güera, Or, Being A White Mexican
Recently, I wrote a post about Shadeism, or, the importance of skin color in the Latino community. Several of you commented that it was, or was not, important in your immediate family or experiential contexts. I wanted to share a little bit more about myself and my perspective on this very complex issue.
As a light-skinned Mexican-American, Latina, Chicana, whatever, I often find myself at the focal point where race, ethnicity and white privilege meet. I’m a very light-skinned person and I have green eyes. Consequently, I have often found myself having to both explain to whites why my name is “ethnic sounding” and how it’s possible for a “white” person to be of Mexican heritage. But also, I often have to explain to Latinos that my family is actually from Mexico, that I am not a gabacha or Americana (not that there’s anything wrong with that, I can just understand what they’re saying when they talk about my butt).
In my experience I was always praised by my family for being güerita. For some of my family members this praise came before any other praise about academics, comport, maturity, etc., whereas for others it was just an accompanying plus.
It’s complicated. On the one hand, I’m very aware of how my white skin has helped me in different contexts over other Latinos who, perhaps, can’t “pass.” On the other hand, when you’re standing around a group of people who doesn’t like Mexicans and they start to make veiled (or blatant) racist comments, you’re perceived as a “traitor” when you let them know who you are and why it’s not okay for them to say those things. Very strange.
I’ve reaped these rewards on both sides of the border, and I’ll admit I’ve even used it to my advantage when I felt it was necessary, but that doesn’t mean I’ve come to fully accept or understand that being güera is even a big deal at all.
Growing up, the messages I received about nationalism told me that what I was learning at home was not “mainstream.” The food I ate, the languages I spoke, and my family’s expectations, among other things, contributed to my perception that I was not simply “American,” but rather, something other. There were no rice and beans at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, in other words.
I was in seventh grade the first time someone — José, my cohort — told me there was no way I could be Mexican because I was too white, and to “prove it” to him. How do you “prove” who you are? It was one of my first existential crisis, ha ha. But as I’ve grown up, these conversations have evolved into drawn-out conversations about where my family is from or the origins of my “beautiful” and “unique” name.
To make a long story even longer, I think that Shadeism does exist in many parts of Latin America, and as a güera I’ve reaped mostly rewards from that system. Would you care to share any thoughts on this post or the topic at hand?
Follow Sara Inés Calderón on Twitter @SaraChicaD
