My Journey “Into” Whiteness as a “Latinx” Man

The Messy Deepening of my Racial Reckoning and Anti-Racism Practice

I've never thought of myself as white: I thought of myself as only Mexican. A Mexican with a cinnamon complexion that could make Mexican singer, Thalia, belt out, "Eres piel morena. Canto de pasión y arena!" Translation: “You are brown skin. A song of passion and sand.” Ironically, it turns out I don't have piel morena either. Why have I been so out of touch with my racial reality? How do I navigate this awareness, and where do I go from here? Those were some of the questions that raced through my mind as I initially experienced my white racial ignorance.

Acknowledging my whiteness has been a recent and continually evolving process. It’s also a journey historically plagued with 'othering' speed bumps. There isn’t one specific moment that has stifled my racial realization; instead, it's the culmination of various biased experiences. The most explicit example of Anglo-whiteness othering me occurred during a gathering in my home. I was in conversation with a woman I'll call Sarah. I knew Sarah thought of me as white. Her communication lacked a sense of superiority that was vastly different from my general experiences with other Anglo-whites, particularly those who were aware of my cultural background. I can’t remember why we began talking about my racial identity, but Sarah said, "I thought Joey was white.” Sarah’s daughter looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, she didn’t mean that.” Another Anglo-white person from the group retorted, “Joey isn’t white; he’s Mexican.” Pressured by the group, Sarah began explaining what she thought I was, and in her confusion, she said, "I don't know. I guess I thought he was Mexican-ish?" Laughter exploded over the damaging confusion and ignorance of my racial identity. I didn't know what to do, so I conformed to the group's laughter and carried on with our day.

To clarify, I share that story not to demonstrate resentment but to release some of the white supremacist toxins that live within my body. I can't begin to articulate how agonizing it has honestly been to grapple with this racial reckoning. I feel as though I've been poisoned with serrated sharp barbs of white supremacy. My body is gasping for air as I continue to expel decades worth of toxin. Every Anglo-white oppressive slight has caused more delirium within me, and I am now struggling with the consequences. I am angry; I am hurt, and I am in pain. I can feel my throat tighten with sadness as if someone is strangling me, telling me to stay silent. Breathe. Relax. And release, my body is telling me. I'm here for you. Ultimately, my goal is to free myself from white supremacy’s vice grip—which includes facing my whiteness—so that I do not replicate the same strangulation.

For more on this piece please visit medium.com/@joeypierre