The Real Brooklyn Baby: Growing up Puerto Rican in Brooklyn
By: Jazzi Almestica
I loved being able to grow up in New York City, everyone tells me how lucky I was to be born in the greatest city. What they don't know is the struggles of having to grow up in a city that wants your people gone.
I grew up knowing I was Puerto Rican, I was raised on bachata, reggaeton, and that good 90s Puerto Rican house music. I was two and refused to eat my dinner unless my mom would play Gasolina by Daddy Yankee. My family never kept my culture hidden from me, they just raised me as a no-sabo kid (trust I know Spanish now). I was born and raised in Williamsburg, the area was packed with Puerto Ricans. In the 1950s when Puerto Ricans were leaving the island to come to the United States a lot of them settled in Williamsburg because it was so easy to get factory jobs here. The Domino Sugar Factory was always hiring, and the Brooklyn Navy Yard could always need a few extra hands. Williamsburg was built off the blood, sweat, and tears of Puerto Ricans, and rightfully so Williamsburg became known as Avenue of Puerto Rico, streets were renamed after Puerto Rican men who fought in wars, Puerto Ricans who truly made a difference in what seems to be a tiny community.
My life started changing when I got into middle school, my community was slowly changing. I went to a predominantly black and Hispanic middle school yet the majority of the teachers were white. They had this ideology that they needed to get us “off the streets” and into books. Certain parts of everyone's culture were banned in that school. No durags, they are unprofessional, bamboo earrings are a distraction and don't say any street lingo in school because jobs and colleges would never take us if we spoke like that. They loved to have us read books with slurs about our community but would never allow us to say them because they're “too offensive” Mind you this is a school of BIPOC being taught by a white lady. It wasn't just in my school but in my neighborhood as well. A lot of the people I grew up with that I considered family started to move because of rent increases or they passed on. With every new vacant apartment came a new community, gentrification was in full swing in my hood.
The Puerto Rican bakery my mom would get bread from was gone, they turned it into a healthy vegan market until that shut down and it became a Taco Bell. My hairdresser had to move her shop into a different part of the area, they turned her into a Popeyes. They had the liquor store that was around for decades minimize and go around the corner just to turn it into a paint and sip.
I was slowly losing my culture, now you might think it sounds crazy that I'm calling a liquor store my culture but it was, these were people who came straight from the island for a new life and they succeeded, just to have it get snatched away from them because of greed. It was worse when they tried to remove the name Avenue of Puerto Rico. No one knew it was happening until one day someone recorded a construction team removing the street signs. I’ve never seen my community so angry, with calls to the mayor's office, viejitos arguing with workers, communities praying. After 3 hours the teams were told to put the signs back up, even if we got our signs back why were they so quick to erase us? Williamsburg wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for my people. You guys wouldn't be able to go to L Train Vintage or have silly little Raves at Trans Pecos. You scream and cry to protect minorities yet you are erasing me, you're erasing the hard work my grandparents put in to make sure their grandchildren could have the best lives they could in New York City.
I have never and will never be ashamed of being a Puerto Rican in New York City. I have such a rich culture rooted in my ancestors who fought to make sure the Taino traditions would stay alive, my grandparents who made sure that their children's and grandchildren's lives would be changed for the better, my parents struggled just to make sure I and my sister could achieve our dreams. New York isn't the only one trying to erase my roots, the United States is as well. Puerto Rico didn't ask to be a part of the United States, we were forced. Puerto Rico is not for sale, Puerto Rico is not a trash island, and Puerto Rico should have never been your property. My people, my culture, and my identity were not made to please you.
I will forever make sure that my culture will never diminish, I will make a pernil for the holidays, I'll blast my music loud, I'll dance bachata to any Romeo Santos song, and I'll keep talking in Spanish. I will keep practicing bruejia, I'll connect closer to my ancestors and spirit guides, I will continue to fight against the mistreatment of my island and make sure that one day in this lifetime Puerto Rico will become independent again. If that offends you, I don't care, my people weren't created to please you.
The Way Out: Confessions of a Half First-Gen American
By: Jai LePrince
I have always had to fight for my connection to the island, mostly because I was my mom’s ticket off it. My mom never liked to talk about her past. I used to not care enough to ask. As I grew up, I quickly realized there was no hiding from the past. Until I was about 4, it was just me and her. We lived in a small trailer, she had a minimum-wage job, and we made do. Then, she made the choice to move us to Alabama from California to be with my dad. I don’t remember much from meeting his side of the family for the first time, but my entire life they made sure I remembered that I was mixed. They didn’t like the music my and mom listened to. They didn’t like the food she cooked. They even called my skin yellow until I finally dared to speak up.
School was no better. I went to an all-Black elementary school and soon transitioned to a primarily-white middle school. High school significantly was more diverse, but one thing remained true in every facet of my life: I felt like a stranger. I wasn’t Black enough. I wasn’t Latin enough. I wasn’t white enough. So, where was I supposed to fit in? A queer, Afro-Latino who didn’t know a lick of Spanish. In my Junior year of High school, I made the decision to look inward instead.
Growing up, I was not particularly religious. I was surrounded by Southern Christians who spewed hate-laced prayers, and Catholics who thought my “choice” was damning me for all of eternity. Still, I couldn’t help but feel this call from something beyond myself. This protective energy surrounded every inch of my life. There were things that I simply just could not find an explanation for.
That’s when I started doing research into brujería. As I started to hone my craft and learn about the stories of my ancestors, I felt this sense of warmth unlike any other I have been able to find in the material world. Now, almost 4 years into my practice, I feel more connected to the island than ever. I can feel the heartbeat of the Taínos and the Slaves, who were both beaten down by the efforts of Europeans, beating along with me, fighting for me to continue in this world. I am not a stranger to this land, or the enchanted soils of Puerto Rico. By the hands of fate herself, I am here. And, I am going to keep taking up space for as long as I breathe, and long after.
Philly Born Rican: The First to Not Speak Spanish
By: Celeste Nieves
I have always loved my culture, yet I have always felt like my culture did not love me back. I had been the first grandchild not to be born on the island, the first to be a no-sabo, and the first to be called a gringa. My mom had her reasons for raising me as a no-sabo, which I now understand as I have grown older. She was born on the island, her first language was Spanish, and she struggled. My mom struggled through school even though she had begun school in Philadelphia, she struggled through racist comments from educators because her English was not “good enough” and from that point on she decided she did not want that life for me.
I am very privileged because of this but I would be lying if I said I was happy with this result. It was really hard and continues to be hard growing up being the outsider in your family. I grew up eating all the same foods, listening to all the same music, understanding every conversation yet not being able to carry on my own conversation. I think back on my life and I have never even had a full conversation with my grandparents, who I love so deeply.
I remember the first time going to the island and falling in love, I think I was six maybe seven. I stood at my grandparent's house which they had just moved back to the island at this time. I remember being so happy to be there to see the beauty of Puerto Rico for the first time yet even at a young age I still felt like an outsider. We would visit more distant family and I would sit silently on the couch not engaging and when someone tried to engage with me, I would tell my mom what to say back and that cycle has continued my whole life.
Even though I am considered to be a no-sabo kid, I do understand Spanish almost perfectly. I grew up around both English and Spanish and, tried my best to reply when I could in Spanish. It has been difficult for me to feel connected to my culture and I know I am not the only one that is going through this. But even through all of my struggles in my culture, I am so beyond proud to be Boricua. I hope I can continue to learn and grow within my cultural identity because it can be such a beautiful culture that I hope to pass down one day and I know in my heart that I will.
Photographer: Diana Victoria
Directors: Jazzi Almestica and Celeste Nieves
PA: Jai LePrince & Mickayla Davis
Talent: Deliana Valentin