Michelle, though we may be strangers, I recognize a certain lineage in your words and questions. Many perceive “Mexican” through a limited lens, often excluding the vibrant tapestry of our true heritage. This isn’t about European immigrants in Mexico, but about the undeniable, visible Mexican – the Mejicano – in all their diverse glory. Our bloodlines are a rich blend: Indigenous, African, and Spanish.
Within my own family, this diversity is evident. We range from tan and brown skin to shades so deep they approach black. Our hair textures vary from wavy to tightly coiled, what we affectionately call “coculuste.” My mother recounted stories of our ancestors, Indian and Black Mejicanos, whose dark skin and “coculuste” hair were simply part of who they were in Mexico. Prejudice based on color was a foreign concept until she journeyed to this country. In Mexico, darker children were terms of endearment – “negritos” or “negritas.” My grandfather lovingly called my grandmother “negrita.”
It’s a truth many American-born Mexicans might deny – the presence of African heritage in our Mexican identity. We don’t claim African American roots, but we acknowledge our Afro-Mejicano lineage. Look at historical figures like Emiliano Zapata or Vicente Guerrero, the first Black president of North America. Yes, Vicente Guerrero, a Mexican, led Mexico in 1829 and abolished slavery shortly after. Why abolish slavery if it never existed in Mexico? It’s time to delve into authentic history, not the whitewashed narratives of the Spanish colonial rulers who continue to influence Mexican society.
The power structures in Mexico often reflect this skewed history. Government officials rarely mirror the diverse population they represent. While some tanned or brown faces appear, the ruling class largely retains its colonial-era, Spanish-descended makeup. In the past, they labeled us – the mixed-race populations – with derogatory terms like “Jarochos,” “Zambos,” and “Lobos,” culminating in the assassination of Vicente Guerrero. Now, the convenient label is “Mestizo,” a blanket term (Indigenous/Spanish) that erases the significant African contribution, forcing even those with clear African features to identify solely as Mestizo. This serves to bury the history of African slavery in Mexico.
Generations of mixing bloodlines, driven by a desire to lighten skin tones and avoid discrimination, have obscured, but not erased, our African roots. During colonial Mexico, Spanish authorities guaranteed freedom for children born from unions between African slaves and Indigenous people. This promise fueled miscegenation, a strategy to dilute the visible African presence, yet the heritage persists, however subtly. If your Mexican family predominantly appears white, it likely stems from strong Spanish lineage or perhaps German or Italian ancestry. However, understand this: if your family presents as overwhelmingly white, blonde, and blue-eyed, you are not representative of Mexico’s majority, the true bloodline forged in the struggles and sacrifices against colonial exploitation.
This exploration of Mexican identity and hidden histories brings us to a fascinating cultural artifact: the song “La Bamba.” While seemingly a simple folk tune, “La Bamba” embodies the spirit of Mexican resilience and cultural fusion. Although not explicitly about Afro-Mexican heritage, its roots in son jarocho music from Veracruz, a region with a significant Afro-Mexican population, hint at these deeper connections. The infectious rhythm and celebratory nature of “La Bamba” have transcended borders, becoming a global symbol of Mexican culture and joy. Understanding the complex history of Mexico, including the often-silenced Afro-Mexican narrative, adds layers of meaning to cultural expressions like “La Bamba,” reminding us that Mexican identity is a vibrant, multifaceted tapestry woven from diverse threads.
