These Black, Indigenous Latinxs Are Challenging Traditional Notions of Identity

Published on April 1, 2022 at 3:30 PM

Johan Ordonez | AFP via Getty Images

The policing of identity is a common occurrence for the Black Indigenous community. Questions laced with anti-Blackness — for example, inquiring about a person's percentage of "Native blood" — top the long list of attempts made to invalidate the existence of Afro-Indigenous people.

According to white supremacy, a system upheld by Latinidad, there is no room for intersection. Language, ethnicity, gender, nationality, and race are overwritten in favor of Latinx's "shared culture." This forcefully flattens the existence of those on the outskirts of the definition. Hence, Black Indigeneity suffers erasure.

The resistance to Black Indigenous identity is global. Whether zeroing in on the Americas or the continent of Africa, Blackness is seen as separate from Indigeneity; however, Blackness itself is Indigenous. Examining the definition, Indigenous folks are the descendants of those who inhabited a geographical region when people of different cultures or ethnic origins arrived. As writer and author Hari Ziyad points out, Black people are colonized and displaced Indigenous people. "Africans, including those of us born of the diaspora, are an Indigenous population withstanding the same global colonization efforts enacted by white supremacy that has bled its way — quite literally — across the Atlantic, and our lived experiences as colonized and displaced Indigenous people should be recognized accordingly," they said.

In spite of the violent attempts to deny Afro-Indigenous folks access to their identity, they remain, continuing to affirm their full selves and experiences; creating safe spaces to exist, and challenging traditional views on identity. Such is the case with Audrey and Nora Flores, and Vivian Moran, who each have a unique story to share about their identity.

-This story was edited on 10/05/2022

Audrey and Nora Flores

When Nora Flores arrived in her family's hometown of Punta Gorda in Roatán, Honduras, for Garifuna Settlement Day, she knew this particular trip would be different. Witnessing the reenactment of the April 12, 1797 arrival of the Garínagu (plural for Garífuna) to Roatán, after being exiled by the British from St. Vincent and the Grenadines, sent goosebumps all over her body. Her older sister, Audrey, felt there was something special, even ancestral, about this trip, too.

"The spirituality of our culture is really the backbone," says Nora, who is en route to becoming a buyei, or spiritual leader. "I didn't grow up in the pueblo, but that's something that is in our blood; it's in our DNA. The more you tap in, the more they [ancestors] will guide you."

After their trip, the sisters returned to Brooklyn, NY; however, they made another trip back to their ancestral homeland — this time, answering the call to stay. The duo spent time soul searching while reviving their father's bar-turned-restaurant, but, in 2014, an "aha" moment led them on a purpose-driven path to preserve Garífuna culture on a larger scale. After sharing their journey with a tourist, the woman remarked that they should start a cultural center.

"Now we have this idea. Everyone knows it's important to preserve Indigenous culture, but who knows how to make that sustainable? That's what we've been trying to figure out, and thank God we got it now," Audrey shares. "But that was a struggle."

In 2018, the Garifuna Cultural Center was born. In addition to providing a bevy of classes — from cooking and painting to drumming and dancing — they're also advocating on behalf of Garífuna cultural performers, ensuring that they're paid fairly for their work. The Flores sisters also serve as a bridge for the Garífuna diaspora, connecting with leaders in Belize, Guatemala, Nicaragua, St. Vincent, and Honduras to invite them to the center this upcoming Garífuna Settlement Day. Furthermore, they're hosting an international Garífuna conference in July 2022.

"The focus is bridging the gap, being the connector," Audrey says.

Vivian Moran

For 35-year-old Vivian Moran, her Afro-Indigenous identity has sharpened her self-awareness. Born in Callao, Peru, Aviles enjoyed hearing Afro-Peruvian music genres like festejo and zamacueca at family gatherings, as well as indulging in traditional foods: ceviche, papa a la huancaina, seco de pollo or seco de pato, and carapulcra. The refreshing, deep purple corn drink chicha morada, an Indigenous contribution to Peru, was also a staple.

But growing up in South Jamaica, Queens, the multimedia artist's proximity to other cultures within the African diaspora blurred the identity lines; the sounds of reggae, dancehall, and Motown, as well as Caribbean dishes like bacalao, found their way into her home. Given her lived experiences within the limits of Latinidad, "other" seemed like an appropriate box to check.

"I was too brown to be Latina, but I was also too brown to be white," she says. "But then I was too light-skinned to be Black."

However, after the loss of her paternal and maternal grandparents, Moran began digging deeper into her lineage and unearthing their stories. A cousin led her to her maternal grandfather's hometown of Cerro de Pasco and the largely Afro-Peruvian community of El Carmen, in the Chincha region of Peru, as well as her paternal grandmother's town, Sihuas.

"Now, when people ask me what I am, I always make sure to say I'm Black and Indigenous first, and Peruvian second," Moran says. "It's something that has to be done because if you don't, somebody else is going to do it for you. And I'll be damned if I'll get put back into that 'other' box."

As the first-generation podcaster archives her family's history, she plans to pass her findings on to her nieces. "This next generation is definitely going to change things," she affirms.