About a Race

Throughout these four weeks we have done a lot of observing of cultural norms and have explained quite a bit on the blog regarding where they throw out their trash (or don’t), where they live, how they work, and so forth. One thing I have purposely delayed writing about is something I have yet to fully understand: the racism.

Some would say everyone in the D.R. is dark skinned. Compared to Matteson and I, this is true. But the tint of one’s skin is entirely relative. Everyone is a shade of something, whether it’s white or cream or beige or tan or light tan, dark tan, light brown, brown, dark brown, or black. But the darkest are the Haitians, and here to be labeled Haitian is not a statement, but an accusation.

We live next door to what we’ve now counted to be, at most, 10 illegal Haitians. They’re quite poor, and most of the 10 don’t work, but we chat in the morning and get along fine. Unfortunately, not everyone is so kind.

Haiti and the Dominican Republic have had political tension over hundreds of years on border disputes and government ruling. Without getting into too much detail in fear of getting a wrong fact (with no text book available and limited internet time), I’ll discuss what it boils down to in today’s world, as we observe it: racism at its finest, with building tensions.

We first noticed it at a nearby beach Saturday afternoon. We were stationed in front of a predominantly Italian-owned condominium complex, next to four elderly Italians basking in the sun. As the Italians were slowly packing up, a group of 15 Haitians and 4 French Canadian Jehovah’s Witnesses piled out of minivans with a small grill, a bucket of fish and some soccer balls. They drew a small “court” in the sand and aligned 4 coconuts as goals, two on either side of the court. They asked most around them for extra room, including us, so we scooted our towels over to avoid sand in our eyes. They were fun to watch, clearly enjoying themselves, men of all ages and a few little girls kicking the ball around.

Well, the Italians decided then that they weren’t going anywhere. Instead, they approached a security worker from their condominium complex, exchanged a number of harshly spoken words accompanied by waving arms and accusing fingers directed toward the “intruders”. Eventually, they had their way. The security man nodded, marched into the middle of the soccer game, and firmly warned the boys once about whose property they were playing on. The whole party came to a halt and while the Italians – the only other people nearby the game - headed inside, the game was shifted down the beach.

Trick is, none of the beaches are privately owned. Technically, everyone has a right to play soccer where they so choose. But when you’re unofficially considered second tier to the wealthy tourists, you’re expected to accommodate.

Later on the following week we observed an interaction between two young girls at the library which solidified our assumptions of apparent racism in Las Terrenas. The girls were no older than 8, sharing crayons and spending down time in the library. Somewhere between “Pass me the red” and, suddenly, tears, we came to understand one called the other Haitian – enough to make the room go silent, the kids mouths gaped open in awe. It’s worse than when they yell English swearwords at each other, I guess.

So even the youngest locals have learned darker skin is something to look down on. And the thing is, the difference they see between tan skin and brown skin is unfathomable to me – the Haitians may speak French, but as appearance goes there are plenty “lighter” as there are “darker”. Plus, as far as I can tell, the Haitians and locals both seem to have the same bright smiles.