My American “Dream”: A Message to the Privileged

Depending on government money may seem weird to some, but for many, it’s normal. It was normal for me—for example, the government provided food stamps to my mom. Food stamps are just one of many options within government funding programs provided and very much needed by low-income families. No matter its importance in regards to putting food on the table, people would laugh and judge me; they did not understand me or my experiences. I come from a small neighborhood in Queens, New York. More specifically, my small neighborhood is called Corona, and living there has shaped my mentality to strive for better, and for a better living situation.

Growing up, my living situation was stable to an extent. I was raised by a single mom, which is common enough. I had to watch my mom struggle and constantly work overtime to simply afford back-to-school clothes or school supplies for me.

Aside from struggling to provide food and materials that we needed, we had to worry about our safety every time we left our home. In my neighborhood, there was a lot of gang activity and violence; I learned how to be alert because I had to. Especially as a girl, I had to stay alert and I could not go anywhere alone—ever.

I have lost many people to police brutality, gang violence, and even suicide. With all of the violence that surrounded me, my mom tried the best she could to shield me from it and keep me away from danger. I was enrolled in every safety/community program she could find. Not too many kids were lucky enough to have that protection and care from their mothers.

My mom barely spoke English because it was so difficult to learn and had different pronunciations from her language—Spanish. She would constantly tell me about people mistreating her at her job because of her race and language. I wondered why they would attack her when she was just as qualified, and they were being paid the same salary. It feels as though privileged people do not want to see POC succeed or grow; the privileged would rather see us fail.

As an Afro-Latina woman, I realized that the majority of the time, people like me do not get an easy chance at a better life. When we want to change our lives around, it’s a challenge because of the minimal amount of help that is provided to us. When we ask for help, we’re called greedy and told that we live off of the “taxpaying Americans” money. Do these people know this country was built for white people to succeed off the backs of Afro-Latinos and Black people?

I am a minority. Minorities are judged and set up for failure. I am Dominican, but I identify as an Afro-Latina because of my mixed culture and ethnicity. It is amazing to further educate myself on my own ethnic background. But, it also causes emotional distress to learn more and more that I do not have the same opportunities or privilege as my white counterparts.

I did not see a beautiful green lawn—I saw a bodega. On every street corner, there were wanted signs on street poles, missing persons flyers, and teenagers fist-fighting in my neighborhood. I have witnessed people fall to depression, stress, and sadness. Why? Because it is difficult to accept that you live in poverty, but we do. We do not have the luxury of just having a successful business—if we do, we have to build it ourselves and do everything we can to afford it. To simply get a job, we have to struggle and beg.

My financial status will never matter because the races that compose me will always be looked at as lesser. I believe this is why I have been so eager to leave my neighborhood and move to a “better place.” Yet, that will not change where I come from or who I am after everything I have been through.

It is so hard being my true self. Many people believe that because I am Hispanic, I am an immigrant who is uneducated and only speaks Spanish. When I am at a job interview, I need to make sure my hair is straight instead of wavy or curly because my natural hair is deemed unprofessional. When I was a child, I wanted to be someone that I am not because my history books brainwashed me into believing my people were not good enough to be rich, successful, or happy. But we are who we are.

Everything that has happened to us has shaped my mentality to be geared more toward success. I won't forget depending on food stamps, basic government needs that were provided to my family, the hungry days, the lack of presents on Christmas, the racist remarks, and being degraded. Now, we fight for our peace, respect, and justice because this is who we are. This is my American dream.

My community and my people, the Afro-Latinos, get torn and broken apart due to stereotypes placed on us by the privileged and wealthier class. Where does this leave us today? We are in pain. We are in a constant struggle. We see our people brutally and violently murdered due to racist and prejudiced actions. Our neighborhoods need renovations; “the projects” should no longer be beaten down and left destroyed. Our government is investing more money into the military and police departments rather than helping those who actually need the money. Minorities are simply not cared for in this country.

Many of us struggle with basic living situations, but we also struggle with political and economical situations because the justice system was never designed to protect us. We have human rights, and they are taken away from us every day—even when we peacefully protest. We want—and desperately need—change. When we ask for help or for you to speak up, it is because they will listen to you first.