Luis Braga | #BLM Open Letter
My name is Luis Manuel Braga Jr. I was born on April 12th, 1992 to Josefa Altagracia Caminero and Luis Manuel Braga in Elmhurst, New York.
My mother is from the Dominican Republic, her side of the family sees many members of different ethnic makeups. As a child, I was always fascinated by the differences in my family, even though it was never discussed. Many people aren’t aware that the Latinx community comes with its own set of self-racial issues
My father's background has always been a mystery to me and it's a topic my family has kept guarded for years, something I’ve never publicly spoken about. I always knew my grandfather was of Brazilian descent, but never got to meet him as he was shot and killed before I was born. With recent events, I’ve been contemplating whether his darker skin tone was a factor in his murder.
I grew up closely with my Dominican aunt & cousin, who’s lighter complexion was never an issue to me. Growing up as part of a single-parent household, my aunt and my father firsthand knew the experiences of being impoverished.
When I was 5, I remembered my family made a collective decision, for the futures of both me and my cousin. Both families moved to Glendale, a predominately white suburb of Queens. I observed racial differences in first grade, where I transitioned from public education to a private one. My classmates and cousin would joke about the matter, I would even laugh and brush it off…none of this got me upset or bothered. I was never treated differently as far as I can remember from growing up. I played basketball and threw my “head in the game” as a way to avoid confronting my sexuality. Although I hung out, partied, celebrated, and had good times with my white teammates and classmates, my blackness was made aware to me in the soft-subtle racial undertones and exploitation of my blackness. I was oft-referred to as the “Spanish-friend”.
It wasn’t until college and when I began to work where I noticed the difference. I had assimilated myself into fitting into this bubble as the “safe” black kid. As disheartening as it sounds, I had white friends tell me, “you're Spanish, you're not black” and I agreed. I suppressed my racial identity for years. It wasn’t until I met a friend at a retail job, I took in college that I realized my denial. He changed my sense of self and my eagerness to be accepted by the white majority. Initially, though hurt and confused, I gradually realized the truth in his words. I was confused, scared, and hurt. I still didn’t comprehend what this meant until this weekend.
This weekend I realized I was sheltered from my true identity, as an Afro-Latino man. I let my fear paralyze me properly asserting myself. It wasn’t an easy pill to swallow, after so many years of “acceptance” by my white friends, I had the opportunity to speak up and align myself with the community that I had previously ignored. Social media allowed me the opportunity to share my personal story with those who are struggling with their identity, specifically those in the Latinx community. I wanted them to feel heard, seen, and most importantly valued. The incoming supportive messages warmed my heart.
I'm proud I spoke up. This isn’t about time; this is about addressing racism. You should not feel ashamed about making your voice heard.
I write this letter as I am no longer keeping silent, and to share my personal story; a story I’ve kept guarded for 28 years of my life. I hope that it inspires others who have similar feelings to take that action and address difficult issues.
Having a voice is not only beautiful, but it’s also one of the most powerful assets one can use, especially during this time in society. I encourage everyone to stand up with us, speak justice, and support your minority colleagues and those sound you. Show them that you are beside them.
In the words of the great Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, “let no man pull you so low as to hate him”.
Peace, Love, & Justice.
Luis Manual Braga Jr.
