Re-Animate Your Chingonisma

For those of mixed identities—whether Indigenous, Latina/x, and white European or other combinations—the experience of belonging can feel like you should belong to both but are welcome in neither. In some spaces, they are seen as “not enough”—not Indigenous enough, not Latina/x enough, not connected enough to their roots to be fully embraced. In others, their mixed heritage leads to partial acceptance, but often at a cost, as they are exoticized for their appearance or valued for their proximity to whiteness.

For light-skinned or "passable" individuals with white European parents, this liminality includes privileges like being allowed into spaces that exclude darker-skinned peers. Yet even there, they may be othered or fetishized—praised for their “exotic” looks while denied full belonging. This exotification disregards the complex histories behind their mixed heritage.

In Latina/x spaces, colorism and anti-Blackness often erase someone's Indigeneity or Afro-descended heritage. Those with darker skin or Afro-Indigenous features may face exclusion, while lighter-skinned individuals are granted partial acceptance based on perceived proximity to whiteness. These dynamics reflect colonial systems that devalue African and Indigenous identities while reinforcing rigid hierarchies of race and color.

The concept of blood quantum, a colonial tool to measure Indigenous ancestry, compounds these challenges. It invalidates mixed individuals' lived experiences, reducing identities to percentages and perpetuating exclusion based on arbitrary standards.

In Indigenous and Latina/x spaces, mixed individuals often carry the burden of proving their authenticity. They must validate their connection to their roots while navigating privileges tied to their lighter skin or perceived whiteness. This often leads to isolation, guilt, and frustration, as unique identities are dismissed or questioned.

Colonial systems created these divisions, reinforcing the idea that belonging requires fitting into binary constructs. These expectations erase their Indigeneity, forcing individuals to choose parts of themselves, risk exclusion, or internalize self-hatred.

Boarding schools and missionary programs forbade Indigenous languages, forcing children to speak only English or Spanish. These policies severed families from their linguistic roots, leaving generations unable to communicate in the languages of their ancestors. Even Spanish, brought through colonization, was later suppressed in the United States. Speaking Spanish in public or schools was often illegal, and many of our parents endured corporal punishment for using their native tongue in Catholic schools and public spaces.

To protect us from violence, many parents chose not to teach us Spanish. This led to some of us being labeled “no sabo kids,” a term used to ridicule those who struggle with Spanish. Sadly, instead of understanding, some Spanish speakers mock or shame us, while anti-Blackness and colorism compound this harm, devaluing Afro-Latinx individuals within our language communities. These choices to teach or not teach Spanish were acts of love and survival. The label of “no sabo kids” isn’t a failure—it’s a reflection of the violence endured and the resilience of our families.

Sacred practices were outlawed and vilified as pagan. Ceremonial knowledge and rituals that honored the earth and our ancestors were forced underground or lost altogether. At the same time, elements of Latina/o/x cultures—including Afro-Latinx contributions—were and continue to be appropriated and exotified. Our foods, once deemed “too ethnic,” are now celebrated in trendy restaurants with no acknowledgment of the Black, Indigenous, or Latina/x hands that cultivated these traditions.

Our vibrant textiles, woven with ancestral and African-inspired stories, are commodified and stripped of their meaning. Music like reggaeton and salsa, born from Afro-Latinx communities, is embraced globally while the struggles of its creators are ignored. Even our accents, once mocked, are romanticized for entertainment, leaving Afro-Latinx voices unacknowledged.

This duality—where our cultures are demonized while being exploited—further fractures our communities. Reclaiming and honoring these sacred practices and cultural heritages, particularly those tied to Afro-Indigenous identities, is an act of resistance against this ongoing erasure and commodification.

Colonization uprooted entire communities, stripping people of their understanding of where they came from and severing their connection to sacred lands and ancestral teachings. The phrase, “We are not those kinds of _______ (Mexicans),” reflects the internalized shame and distancing from Indigeneity imposed by colonial narratives.

The concept of Limpieza de sangre (cleanliness of blood), introduced during Spanish colonization, enforced the idea of blood purity, privileging lighter skin and European features while dehumanizing Indigenous and Afro-descended peoples. This colonial construct created rigid racial and class hierarchies, tying wealth and status to proximity to whiteness, while darker-skinned individuals faced systemic exploitation, exclusion, and erasure.

To survive within this system, many families of mixed heritage rejected their Indigenous and African roots, adopting European customs, languages, and religions to gain social mobility or avoid violence. This forced assimilation severed generations from their ancestral connections and erased Afro-Indigenous and Afro-Latinx identities from cultural and historical narratives, leaving lasting wounds.

The legacy of Limpieza de sangre persists today, perpetuating divisions through colorism, classism, and the devaluation of Afro-Indigenous and Afro-Latinx identities. Reclaiming and celebrating all aspects of our heritage is a powerful act of resistance against these colonial systems and a step toward healing and unity.

Colonial education systems systematically erased the histories of Indigenous, Latino, Black-Latina/x, Asian-Latina/x, and mixed-heritage peoples, leaving generations without knowledge of their ancestors’ resistance, resilience, and contributions. These systems replaced rich, diverse histories with Eurocentric narratives, pushing nationalist ideologies that encouraged assimilation into identities like "Americans" or "Mexican Americans." This forced distancing from cultural roots upheld white supremacy and further perpetuated colorism, anti-Blackness, and the invisibilization of Afro-Latina/x and Asian-Latina/x identities.

The Chicano Movement of the 1960s emerged as a powerful response to this erasure. It reclaimed Chicano identity and history, advocated for ethnic studies in education, and celebrated the resilience of Latina/x communities. Yet, despite its transformative impact, the movement often focused on specific aspects of Mexican identity, leaving Afro-Latina/x, Asian-Latina/x, and other mixed-heritage identities underrepresented. Additionally, many Latino students were discouraged from pursuing ethnic studies, as families prioritized fields like business or law to ensure financial stability, viewing ethnic studies as impractical or unnecessary.

Today, ethnic studies and culturally responsive education face growing challenges, with legislative bans enacted in several states. These efforts not only suppress Indigenous and Latino histories but also erase the intersecting stories of Afro-Latina/x and Asian-Latina/x identities, perpetuating a colonial framework that denies the complexity and richness of these communities.

Reconnecting with our shared histories is an act of resistance against these ongoing efforts of erasure. Honoring the contributions and resilience of Indigenous, Latina/x, Afro-Latina/x, Asian-Latina/x, and mixed-heritage peoples is essential to building a future grounded in empowerment, unity, and truth.

Indigenous children were stolen from their families and placed in boarding schools designed to “kill the Indian, and save the man.” These schools destroyed cultural identity, traumatized generations, and severed intergenerational knowledge. Similarly, many Indigenous and Latina/o/x children were required to attend missionary schools, where government policies or economic necessity left families little choice.

Later, public schools continued this pattern of indoctrination, forcing assimilation into a Eurocentric, nationalist framework. These institutions vilified Indigenous languages and traditions, replacing them with European values and a whitewashed, “proud American” identity. Across all these systems, histories of resistance and resilience were erased, creating generations disconnected from their roots.

The trauma of these schools persists today, leaving many disconnected from their languages, traditions, and cultural identities. Reclaiming these lost histories and practices is a vital act of resistance against the whitewashing and assimilation that sought to erase us.