Look, I’m not here to start a fight. Dominican culture is vibrant, proud, and complex—and that’s beautiful. But there’s a cost to pretending. When you deny Blackness, you lose the connection to the African roots that gave you bachata’s sensual sway, the güira’s hypnotic scrape, and the mangú you eat for breakfast. (Side note: Ever had mangú? Mashed plantains with pickled onions. It’s basically fufu with a Dominican passport. And fufu is West African. Just saying.)
Also, this denial hurts real people. Dominican kids grow up with a color hierarchy that tells them lighter is better. They straighten their hair, avoid the sun, and chase European features—then wonder why they feel ashamed. Meanwhile, Afro-Dominican activists are fighting for recognition, trying to get people to say “Black is beautiful” in Spanish. It’s slow, but it’s happening.
Afro Dominicana Poets And Novelists Discuss Music And Identity : Alt
The Real Talk
So, what’s the point of this rant? Just this: Dominican people are Black—culturally, genetically, rhythmically—and that’s not an insult. It’s a fact. You can be Black and Dominican, just like you can be Black and British, Black and Brazilian, or Black and Buzzfeed reader. The Dominican Republic isn’t some unique exception to the African diaspora; it’s a loud, messy, beautiful part of it.
Next time you’re at a Dominican party and someone tells you “We’re not Black, we’re Dominican,” just smile, nod, and watch them move their hips to dembow—a beat stolen from Jamaican dancehall, which was stolen from African drums. And maybe, just maybe, buy them a Presidente and say, “Bro, listen to your own rhythm.”
Because at the end of the day, the music doesn’t lie. And neither should we.
