Pelo Malo: The Afro-Latinx experience in Trump’s America

Pelo Malo: The Afro-Latinx experience in Trump’s America Amber Ebanks Multiplatform Journalism U.S. Latino/a Studies Art Scholars Program

Essay Description: This essay explores the intersections of my racial and ethnic identities, and how a life of feeling ostracized that led me to apply to law school. In addition, this essay explains how my dream of becoming an Air Force JAGS officer was deterred, but ultimately strengthened by the election and a derogatory tweet celebrating President Trump’s victory.

Trigger Warning: This piece covers topics some readers may find distressing, including sexual assault, harassment and racial slurs.

When I was in middle school, I developed a great interest in politics. Each day I would watch Good Morning America and learn more about Barack Obama and his competitors. When he won the election in in 2009 and in 2012, I was overjoyed. At the start of this election I was excited because I was finally old enough to vote and though I was not eager to throw my support behind Clinton, I did not realize how her losing the election would affect my last year of college.

At the start of my senior year I started to write my personal state for law school. I knew that the best way for a law school committee to learn my story would be describing myself through my scalp. The very strains of hair that grow from my hair are what inspired my dream of becoming a JAG officer.

My hair is a badge of honor and through my scalp I live freely. My parents gave me curly dark brown hair. As an Afro-Latinx woman, I experienced a polarizing ‘pelo malo’ relationship with our hair. ‘Pelo malo’ is a derogatory term used to describe coarse or kinkier hair, and through research, I’ve found that many Afro-Latinx people have experienced the same self-consciousness I experienced growing up.

I grew up feeling alienated: I felt excluded from many Latinx groups because I had brown skin and my Spanish was not perfect, and I also felt excluded from black students because of my home life. I found myself searching for my identity and constantly countering both the stereotypes of the “angry black woman” and the “overly

sexualized Latinx.” The hardships I experienced growing up led me to the U.S. Latino/a Studies program.

Some of my earliest classes served as an introduction into a historical overview, which put the current condition of many African Americans and Latinx people into a much clearer context. This, along with my personal ties to the immigrant community, is why I decided I want to continue my training to the highest level and earn a Juris Doctorate degree. I want to go to law school because I want to help people that don't have the ability to fight for their own rights: the people that are seeking to claim their identity in America.

I want people that are seeking residency in the United States to see their nationality as a badge of honor and through their citizenship live freely. Unfortunately, I have often been afraid to pursue this dream of law school because of the lasting implications of discrimination in my community. Moments of fear have only escalated since the election.

The day after the election, I sat at the edge of my bed wondering how I would work up to the courage to go to class. I tried to convince myself that it was any ordinary day, but I was wrong. I have felt personally attacked every day of President Trump’s campaign trail. I met every requirement on his checklist of victims. Black, Latinx, queer, woman, sexual assault survivor, abusive relationship survivor. It seemed as though with each marker I became less of what he deemed acceptable for an American citizen.

I’ve read countless stories of attacks made on people across the world in honor of Trump winning. I felt bad for those people and empathized with their stories, but I thought I was safe here at the University of Maryland – a place many often praise for its

diversity. I thought I was safe until I received a twitter notification. A tweet that was sent to my girlfriend.

“I’m going to rape your dirty Mexican girlfriend before she gets deported.”

Those 72 characters changed my entire week.

Because I don’t know who wrote the tweet, I felt like it could have been anyone.

As I told my friend later that day – two panics attacks later, “I’ve been assaulted twice, three times the charm!”

The comment nearly scared her. She couldn’t understand how I could form my lips to share such a repulsive thought. But when you’ve had your body taken from you on several occasions it sometimes seems like you’re not in charge of it anyway. This time – the detachment from my body felt greater. It was my womanhood, my race and my sexuality that came under question. Questions often prompted by the man that is now leading our country.

The election shifted my perspective of America. And it did for many others.

Almost every time you log onto Facebook, Twitter or read a newspaper, you can find a story about race. From conversations regarding positive representation in the media to the Black Lives Matter movement – race is everywhere. Race and racism seems to be a topic most people do not discuss in their daily lives. In order to effectively discuss race, one must first decide how their identity, which is shaped by their race, ethnic group and class. Then must also see acknowledge how their privilege and power affects their lives and the lives of people around them.

Though I am afraid of what the future holds, I am most proud of the dialogue that the election has created. As a lawyer, I hope to inspire migrants and to ensure that they

are protected here and nobody can lawfully violate their human rights no matter their immigration status, religion, race, gender identity, sexual orientation, and a slew of other protected classes. I want to show people that the United States is for all, and that will always be for all. I believe that the election has brought the field of immigration law to the forefront more than ever.